


Bridge the Gap

by FindingSchmomo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Divorce, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flower Shop Owner Ushijima, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Lawyer! Oikawa, M/M, Meet the Family, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Police officer iwaizumi, Polyamory, chap 6 is the familys ongoing mission to keep kags hydrated, chap 7 is meet the parents edition, child kageyama, just a touch of it really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 110,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo
Summary: In which Oikawa struggles to forgive, Ushijima struggles for words and Iwaizumi struggles to relate.They find their answers with each other, and surprisingly enough, with the little boy loitering outside their window.—-Or, a story of disconnects and the love it takes to bridge them.





	1. Bravery

The first time Ushijima sees the boy lingering at his store window he thinks nothing of it. He simply continues wiping his counter clean of dirt. He’s meticulous, making sure to catch every fleck of soil to reuse later. When he looks up again from the task, the boy is still looking into his shop.

He’s tall, but Ushijima can see he’s quite young. There’s a youthful look in his eyes, large and round, taking up most of his face. Baby fat clings to his cheeks, but the rest of him is gangly and thin. His clothes are dirty, roughed up, a few holes near the hem. A troublemaker most likely.

The boy’s blue eyes meander about the shop, taking in the mutlitude of flowers, their colors, their shapes, their sizes. Until, finally, the boy’s eyes rest on Ushijima. Ushijima gives a slight, acknowledging nod, as if to say, you may enter. But the boy misinterprets, eyes going wide, face coloring into a panic as he runs away, down the sidewalk and out of sight. Ushijima blinks, and the incident is forgotten soon enough, as a customer passes through in search of the perfect bouquet.

He remembers the next week, when the boy returns, just as scrappy. He sports a small bandaid below his left eye, and his lips are drawn into a scowl as he moves up the sidewalk. Ushijima watches as he pauses, frown slipping off his face as he starts taking in the flowers of the shop.

Ushijima puts down the box of fertilizer in his hand, walking over to the door and opening it. The chime rings as he steps outside, but by then the boy is gone, running off from whence he came. Ushijima frowns.

He mentions the boy to Iwaizumi at dinner that evening.

“Huh, how old?” Iwaizumi asks, cracking open an egg over his rice as he talks.

The meal is simple. With just the two of them home there really is no need nor want to try any harder. Ushijima thinks a moment, staring at his own bowl, “I would suppose he’d fall between the ages of 10 and 13.”

Iwaizumi swallows down his mouthful, letting his head rest against his fist, “A middle schooler with dark hair and blue eyes loitering outside the shop?”

Ushijima nods, taking a bite of his rice.

“I can look into it at work. But I would have been alerted if there was a missing kid. He might just be playing hooky.” Iwaizumi shrugs.

“I do not wish to get him in trouble,” Ushijima supplies, “I was more so looking into advice on how to convince him to step inside the shop.”

“Come up with better wording. It sounds like you’re luring children off the streets.” Iwaizumi teases, and lets out a muffled laugh at the blank stare he receives from the other man.

“He seems interested in flowers,” Ushijima explains.

“He’ll come in when he’s ready then,” Iwaizumi says. He extends his hand when the frown on Ushijima’s face does not budge, squeezing the taller man’s hand. Ushijima lets out a sigh, but turns his hand so he can hold Iwaizumi’s, letting their fingers intertwine. Iwaizumi grins at him. Ushijima slips a small smile.

The meal is soon forgotten, as Ushijima finds himself with a lapful of Iwaizumi in his arms. The shorter man kisses him, calloused fingers running through his soft dark hair. His hands curl at the back of his neck, pressing their faces closer to each other. Ushijima’s hands run along Iwaizumi’s strong back, pulling his uniform shirt from his belted pants, allowing his fingers to duck under it. Iwaizumi shudders at the touch, fingers tightening to coil at the hairs at the nape of Ushijma’s neck. Ushijima hums into Iwaizumi’s mouth, pulling him closer with a rough tug of his belt loops, until their chests are flush against each other.

The phone in Iwaizumi’s pants pocket begins to vibrate. Iwaizumi groans, pulling away from the kiss, “Who is it?”

Ushijima slips his hand into the offending pocket, pulling free the buzzing cell and seeing Oikawa’s face, mid squawk, cucumber slices falling from his eyes, and green paste all over his face. “Does Oikawa know this is his contact photo?” Ushijima asks with a raised brow, redden lips forming a rare open smile.

Iwaizumi chuckles, reshuffling himself on Ushijima so he sits on his lap properly, leaning his side into the taller man’s chest. Once he’s comfortable, he answers the call, selecting facetime. Oikawa’s blurry face pops up, slowly coming into focus.

“Iwa-chan! Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa greets, voice chipper but strained. Ushijima watches Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow, obviously taking in the bags under Oikawa’s eyes, his ruffled hair, and his forced smile. He can feel the man in his laps shoulders’ tense, and in retaliation he nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck.

“Oi, are you sleeping ok?” Iwaizumi frowns.

Oikawa pouts, “What, no greeting? That’s so rude!”

“It is good to see you, Oikawa,” Ushijima offers, the comment rumbling through Iwaizumi from their proximity. Iwaizumi arches slightly, instinctively.

Oikawa only glowers further, taking their current state and position into consideration, “Are you guys having fun without me?” Ushijima nips at Iwaizumi’s neck in response. Iwaizumi squirms, but smirks at the camera. Oikawa lets out a whine, “No fair!”

Iwaizumi chuckles to himself, but he pulls away from Ushijima, sitting up properly, “How it’s going over there?”

Oikawa sighs, tone drooping to a less affected pitch, “It’s terrible. I’m on the front lines here, Iwa-chan.”

“Don’t compare this to war, asshole,” Iwaizumi huffs.

Oikawa glares at him, Ushijima feels his hands tighten around Iwaizumi as well, angry indignation flaring in him momentarily because it can feel like a war. Oikawa says as much, “If there’s two sides and they’re drawing lines down the middle as they fight, I can call it a war.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and Oikawa glares a bit harsher, the playful air beginning to evaporate. Ushijima can see it dissipating in the air, in the way Oikawa’s eyes darken and Iwaizumi’s body tenses. So he takes action, grabbing the phone from the shorter man’s hand, letting his own face take up most of the view, “Oikawa, when are you returning?”

Oikawa blinks and softens the angry furrow of his brow, “Aww, does someone miss me? Being with grumpy Iwa-chan all day must be so tiring, even stone-face Ushiwaka needs a break!” Oikawa sing songs, playful grin returning to light up his visage. Iwaizumi lets out an angry huff, but the he seems to relax again against Ushijima’s chest, “I’m taking the last train back on Sunday so I won’t be home until late.”

“I see.”

“How’s the store?” Oikawa asks, shuffling a bit to lie down on his childhood bed. He nuzzles into the pillow in his arms, and then his eyes catch on something off camera, hurriedly grabbing it and pulling it into frame. Ushijima catches a glimpse of worn down green fleece before Iwaizumi tears the phone from his hands.

“Is that Zilla-kun?!” Iwaizumi shouts into the phone. Oikawa’s cackle is so loud it becomes distorted through the receiver, despite being muffled by Iwaizumi’s vice like grip.

“I found him in my attic! Going through boxes for hours has its perks,” Oikawa explains, squeezing the small plushie in his hands, “I saved poor Zilla-chan from obliteration. My mom wanted to throw him out.”

“I fucking knew you stole him asshole,” Iwaizumi shouts.

Oikawa grins innocently, “Now, now Iwa-chan, we all do stupid things as children. What matters now is that Zilla-chan is safe and can live with us again.”

“He damn well is.” Iwaizumi snaps, “And he’s staying in my room and never going near you again.”

“Unfair!” Oikawa laughs, snuggling even closer to the old doll.

“The store is fine.” Ushijima pipes up, awkwardly, making his two boyfriends laugh at his timing. Oikawa turns his attention back on him, face disarmed and smile genuine.

He hums, “I’m glad. Is Iwa-chan staying safe on the streets?”

“I keep the streets safe, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi sighs, “Get it right.”

“But who keeps us safe from Iwaizumi’s brutish tyranny?” Oikawa wonders, camera spinning as he rolls onto his back, “I suppose I can dedicate my life to that, helping those in need and keeping you in check.”

“Only you can make a cushy lawyer job sound like martyrdom,” Iwaizumi huffs.

“Cushy?” Oikawa barks, pointing at his face, “Do you see these bags Iwa-chan? What part of these implies cushy? I slave day and night to support my house husbands and this is the thanks I get.”

“I believe we all split the rent equally?” Ushijima interjects.

Oikawa laughs, covering his mouth with his hands, “Oh Ushiwaka, I miss your banality so much. Iwa-chan give him a kiss for me will you?”

“Will do.” Iwaizumi promises with an easy grin.

Oikawa’s smile stretches to his eyes, and there’s a beat of comfortable silence between the three before he starts speaking again through a long sigh, “I have to go.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi nods.

“I miss you,” Oikawa murmurs, softly.

“It will not be long until we see each other again,” Ushijima supplies.

“We miss you too,” Iwaizumi translates.

Oikawa blows them both a kiss before he hangs up.

Iwaizumi slips off Ushijima’s lap and starts taking the dirty dishes to the sink. Ushijima joins him silently. Iwaizumi washes, Ushijima dries, until all the plates and glasses are back where they belong. Iwaizumi then turns to leave, but Ushijima stops him with one word, “Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi looks over, waiting.

Ushijima has never been a master of words. His bluntness has hurt him more times then he can count, his clipped responses only blossoming into misunderstandings. So he overcompensates, becomes long winded, because the last thing he wants to do is hurt the feelings of someone he loves, “I know, it is difficult to see Oikawa going through something like this and being unable to help.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him.

Ushijima keeps pushing through, because that’s what he does, “It does feel like war, at times. It did for me. Do not minimize that.”

Iwaizumi hardens defensively, response quick, “I wasn’t minimizing anything. Oikawa’s just being dramatic.”

“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima sighs.

The man huffs, “I get it, the teasing went too far.” Iwaizumi cuts him off, “I’ll talk with him when he gets back.”

Ushijima wishes to probe further, to have his opinion cut through him so he can realize the error in his ways. That it is alright to not relate to Oikawa in every single aspect of his life. That it is ok to not be part of each and all his worlds, just as Ushijima is not part of all of Iwaizumi’s worlds, nor Oikawa’s.

But Iwaizumi has turned away, stalking to his bedroom, most likely to change into his pajamas. And Ushijima is left wishing, for not the first time, he had been blessed with Oikawa’s gift of gab. And, perhaps, also blessed with his gift of time.

Because Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been given all the time in the world to know each other. To be immersed in each other. And Ushijima has never been one to like playing catch up. But he’s only wrestled his way into their lives, intimately at least, in the last few years, and sometimes the gap between them feels so wide he may just fall right in.

He lets out a tired sigh, grabs his work gloves from their spot hanging on the wall and ventures out to the balcony.

Their balcony is large, facing out onto the the front of their quiet street. He pushes through the plants, making his way through the slim path leftover so can lean against the railing and breathe.

Plants are much easier than people. They don’t need words to know how you feel about them. They just know. They are simple creatures. They make sense. Water, sunlight and soil. Easy.

Ushijima rubs the leaf of his tomato plant delicately. He smiles at its growth, a comfortable pride swelling in his chest. He pulls away to look out atthe small city lights, pulling his gloves off to cup his face. The night breeze is cool and welcome on his skin, and he finally feels his shoulders begin to relax.

Movement below catches on his golden eyes, and he squints in the darkness. He focuses on a dark figure down below, right by his store window. He grips the railing tightly, leaning forward. He worries, for a moment, that it is someone attempting to break in. There’s a shout resting on his lips, Iwaizumi’s name at the tip of his tongue.

But the figure is fidgeting on the sidewalk, moving back and forth restlessly, carelessly walking through the glow of the streetlight. And in those moments Ushijima recognizes him. Recognizes him as the boy from before.

Why is he out so late?

He is so young.

Ushijima retreats back to his apartment, climbing down the steps to the store. He hesitates a moment, and decides not to turn on the lights, fearful it might scare the boy away. He knows his store by heart, able to maneuver through the flowers and plants with relative ease.

He opens the door, cursing the chime inwardly that alerts the restless boy of his presence. Said boy freezes, fingers gripping the edge of his ratty hoodie, eyes wide and terrified.

Ushijima is silent for much too long, mind racing to say something, anything, to calm the child down. Instead he spits out, in his low monotone, “Who are you?”

The boy runs, feet skidding on the sidewalk from the speed at which he launches himself. Ushijima curses, feeling stupid. He slips back into his dark shop and takes a breath. He’ll do better next time.

If there is a next time, he thinks, there is no guarantee the boy will return.

Ushijima lets his head fall back on the door. He hopes the child is alright. It is terribly late an dhe is terribly long, and those facts alone stick in his mind and make his stomach churn. He frowns deeper, settling himself and climbing up the stairs.

Iwaizumi is poking his head around the main room, locking eyes on him as he comes up the steps, shoulders dropping, “Where’d you go?”

“Downstairs.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, coming forward, green eyes a touch apologetic, “Look, I’m sorry I got so, defensive with you. I’m a little stressed, but that was uncalled for.”

Ushijima had forgotten all about it, mind now consumed with other matters, “It is alright,” he assures, distractedly.

Iwaizumi furrows his brow, hand coming out to rest on Ushijima’s forearm, bringing his gaze back, “What’s wrong?”

Ushijima has never been good at lying, especially not with green eyes boring into him. It’s no surprise even Oikawa crumbles under the powerful gaze, “The boy was out front.”

“The boy?”

“The one who has been visiting outside the shop. He was pacing outside. I went downstairs to speak with him and he ran off,” he falters a moment, eyes coming to rest on Iwaizumi’s face, “I am worried. He seems too young to be out this late.”

Iwaizumi’s frown softens, and he turns away, grabbing at his uniform jacket he hangs by the door. Ushijima blinks as the shorter man grabs his keys and his flashlight.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go look for him.”

“You are in pajamas.”

“These sweatpants are decent enough,” he crack a smile, “It’s my job, Toshi.”

“You are off duty.”

“Not really how it works,” Iwaizumi chuckles, slipping down the stairs and out of sight. Ushijima watches him go a moment before grabbing at his own coat.

He joins Iwaizumi on the street, who motions him to point which way he went. He seems unsurprised by his presence. Ushijima takes the lead, letting Iwaizumi fall into step with him, sweeping his flashlight along ahead of them. They walk around the block in companionable silence, ears pricked, eyes surveying, but ultimately find nothing.

Ushijima frowns.

Iwaizumi slaps his back amicably, “I’ll keep an eye out on patrol tomorrow too. But, like I said, we haven’t gotten any reports about missing kids. He probably just snuck out and you scared him straight back home.”

Ushijima nods, but remains unconvinced. Iwaizumi’s hand slides down his back, moving towards his arm until he can clasp their hands together. Ushijima looks down at this, not really thinking as he brings their hands up, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow up at him, questioningly.

Ushijima murmurs against the hand, “I apologize if I offended you earlier.”

Iwaizumi’s normally harsh features soften, lips quirking into a smile, “Shut up,” he mutters, using his other hand to grasp the fabric of Ushijima’s shirt to bring him down. He steps up on his tiptoes, managing to graze his lips against Ushijima’s. The taller man bends down further, releasing their hands in favor of wrapping his arms around him and bring him closer.

“Let’s go home, big guy,” Iwaizumi decides, after an especially chilly wind passes through them.

* * *

Ushijijma closes up the shop during lunch, locking the door and walking down a few blocks to the police station. The sun is high above him this Saturday afternoon, the summer heat bearing down on his dark hair. His fringe starts sticking to his forehead unpleasantly. At least he’s wearing shorts.

He turns the corner, dodging a woman with a stroller. She waves at him, and he pauses, letting her compliment him on a bouquet her husband gave her a week earlier. He nods. The child in the stroller stares at him. He waves at her and her face twists with fear, tears beading at her eyes and color flourishing on her cheeks.

Ushijima begins to apologize and the mother shushes him, admonishing the girl. They part ways and Ushijima wonders if he should start practicing his smile in the mirror. He wonders if Oikawa would help him coach his facial muscles to create something more pleasing to the eye. Or maybe Iwaizumi would be better, having a similarly stern face. He’s still not sure how Iwaizumi’s able to soften his features into that brilliant smile of his.

He’s always been jealous of his boyfriends’ ability to emote so easily, the full spectrum under their belts. Ushijima has always felt incredibly stilted in this respect.

He keeps walking until he reaches the local police station. He waits outside, hands in his pockets, peering into the window. He spots Iwaizumi inside, speaking with his new partner, a rookie he’s helping mentor. Ushijima can’t remember his name for the life of him, but he stands there, red faced and scowling, fingers digging into his own arms where they’re crossed across his chest.

Ushijima didn’t know that law enforcement allowed bleached hair.

Once the rookie stomps away, Iwaizumi’s eyes turn to the window, giving a wave. He calls to one of the officers inside, and Ushijima does know his name, Daichi Sawamura. The two had joined the force together.

Iwaizumi steps out, grinning at him, “Wasn’t sure if we were doing this today.”

“It is Saturday,” Ushijima blinks, reaching his hand out to clasp Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh, “Oikawa’s gonna throw a fit.”

“We can call him.”

“Yeah, we should,” Iwaizumi smiles, squeezing his hand.

They walk side by side, down the sunny path. Ushijima wonders if Iwaizumi is uncomfortable in his uniform, stiff black pants and a blue cotton shirt. His badge glints in the light, and Ushijima’s eyes linger, at how the shirt tightens around Iwaizumi’s muscled chest, and at the curve of his ass shaped by his pants.

Ushijima tears his eyes away when the crosswalk light changes. They keep walking, until they reach their favorite lunch spot, a hole in the wall Oikawa had discovered a few weeks after they first got their apartment. They grab the small table in the corner, and the waitress gives them a knowing nod.

She comes over to greet them, “The usual?” she asks, and they both nod, “Where’s pretty boy?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Iwaizumi smiles, “He’s away this week.”

“Oh hun, you never disappoint,” she comments right back, squeezing his shoulder. She gives Ushijima her own smile, and walks away to put in their orders.

“How are you able to communicate so easily with others?” Ushijima asks, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand.

Iwaizumi blinks at him, and then snorts, “Are you still upset about that kid?” Ushijima looks down at the table. Iwaizumi smiles, “You’re fine, you know?”

“I have difficulties expressing myself. This is not something I’m unaware of.”

“Yeah, but we understand you just fine. You don’t need to worry about it so much.”

“You do not understand all the time. Oikawa--”

“Oikawa likes to tease,” Iwaizumi interrupts, “He thinks it’s cute. So do I.”

Ushijima frowns, “I find it frustrating.”

Iwaizumi sighs, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t really know what to tell you.”

Ushijima looks out the window, at the people milling about the sidewalk, “I will keep working on it.”

Their food arrives, hot and steaming and they eat in comfortable silence. Iwaizumi offers up his fries, and Ushijima takes them. The waitress had left them a side of mayo, despite the fact Oikawa is the only one with the audacity to dip his fries in that specific condiment. It reminds Iwaizumi to fish out his phone and call up the man in question.

It takes a few rings before OIkawa’s face takes up the screen. He’s wearing his glasses, bags still present under his eyes, with an old sweaty t-shirt clinging to his chest, “Yahoo, boys,” he greets, squinting his eyes at them as he tries to figure out where they are, he then shifts his gaze to his watch, the movement so quick it pixelates on the phone for a moment, “You went without me!”

“We were hungry,” Iwaizumi replies simply, “Have you eaten?”

“Lost track of time,” Oikawa sighs, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping forehead. He grimaces, “He’s almost moved out.”

“Are things going smoother?” Ushijima asks.

Oikawa’s smile is more tired than joyful, “Nee-chan took mom out this morning so it’s been a lot easier. Quieter.”

Ushijima nods, “I remember when I was little leaving the house a lot with my mom while my father packed. It is humorous, I was very happy then, because she kept buying me anything I wanted. That was around when I got my dog.”

Oikawa smiles mournfully, eyes looking away from the camera. Ushijima can see his fingers fiddling with something off screen, and he longs to take those hands in his and calm their restless fretting. He wonders how anxious Oikawa has been this week away, what he has been doing to keep the endless thoughts from ravaging his brain.

Iwaizumi leans in, offering a distraction “Oi, what do you want for dinner tomorrow?”

Oikawa snorts, “I told you, I won’t be back until late.”

“Answer the question, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa giggles, “Surprise me, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re infuriating,” Iwaizumi sighs, but he smiles too.

The waitress come by with their checks, blinking at the phone when Iwaizumi turns it toward her. Her eyes widen, “Oh! Oikawa-san! There you are!”

“Did you miss me Miki-chan?” Oikawa coos and she laughs, waving her hand at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replies, “I can’t believe you left your boys alone!”

“Alas, duty calls.”

She seems unconvinced, but she waves goodbye nevertheless with a cheery smile. Iwaizumi turns the phone back to him as Ushijima gets his wallet out to pay.

Oikawa smiles at the two of them, soft and genuine, because it crinkles the edges of his eyes behind his glasses, “Do you guys love me?”

“No.” Iwaizumi says immediately, eliciting a long painful whine from the man on the other hand. Ushijima smiles, as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “What kind of stupid ass question is that, dumbass? It’s been, what, 5 years now?”

Oikawa grumbles something the phone doesn’t quite catch, but he’s pouting into the camera.

“We love you,” Ushijima supplies before adding with a quick glance toward Iwaizumi, “Unfortunately.”

Iwaizumi laughs as Oikawa squawks, “You’re corrupting him, Iwa-chan! Stop spending time together without me! I forbid it!”

“Bye Oikawa,” Iwaizumi replies, easily bringing the phone closer to his face to hang up. Before he does, he whispers a quiet, “Love you,” into the receiver, and then presses the red button as quickly as he can.

Ushijima stands up, stretching his neck side to side to crack it, “He seems tired.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi sighs, standing up as well. He hesitates, eyes falling to the ground before shifting up to peek at Ushijima’s face, “How’d you...you know, deal with it all. When you were little?”

Ushijima starts walking to give himself something to do while thinking, he peruses his mind for the right kind of wording, “I didn’t fully understand what was occurring. I simply dealt with it as it came.”

Iwaizumi looks at the sidewalk as they walk, hands in his pocket, “Must have been tough.”

Ushijima shrugs, “I suppose. But, my case is different. I didn’t really have any sort of relationship with my father. I was very young.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, “Oikawa-san, he was always strict but, I thought...I don’t know. I liked him. I liked both of them. I just…”

“It is difficult to tell what lies beneath the surface. An outsider can never really tell.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him, but it’s a real frown, one that hides gritted teeth. Ushijima can see the tendons working his arm as he fists his hidden hands. Iwaizumi says nothing.

Ushijima has clearly offended him. He’s just not sure how. He decides to stay quiet in case he makes it worse.

By the time they reach Iwaizumi’s station, the tension has dissipated somewhat. Iwaizumi slaps his back, squeezing his shoulder in goodbye. Ushijima still feels inadequate. He turns away, walking back down from whence he came.

He is consumed by his thoughts, thinking of Iwaizumi, of Oikawa, of his childhood, of college, of everything that has led him here to this moment. So consumed in fact, he almost misses him.

Almost.

The boy is in front of his store. Ushijima can see him from where he stands across the street from him. The boy is crouching on the ground, arms folder over his knees, face buried in them. His back is pressed up against the wall, in the shade of the store’s awning. People pass him by without a glance.

Ushijima frowns. He takes a breath to clear his thoughts and readies himself. He crosses the street, confident strides taking him until he stands right by the boy’s feet. He completely dwarfs him. He debates whether he should crouch down, but the boy has already looked up, eyes widening as he scrambles to stand.

Ushijima holds out a hand, and the boy freezes, staring at him, “Wait, here a moment.” Ushijima orders, eyes holding the boy’s face a second longer before he steps away to enter the store. He is gone only a few seconds, but by the time he steps back out, the boy has sprinted down the street.

Ushijima’s arm droops, hanging limply at his sides. He sighs, staring at himself through the slight reflection in his shop. He smiles, watching his lips contort up, but it’s not pleasing to look at. His frown returns. He has never been good at forcing smiles.

He twirls the orange peony between his fingers, watching its many petals sway in the winds. He caresses it a moment, before bending down and placing it against his storefront. Perhaps the boy will come back for it.

He straightens up and heads inside the shop, turning the sign back around to open, and slipping his purple work apron over his front.

* * *

 

Ushijima nuzzles his face into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, breathing in the scent of pine and leather. Iwaizumi reciprocates by petting his hair, never letting his eyes look away from the document he’s reading.

Ushijima bites him.

Iwaizumi snorts, putting down his papers, “You know, you can be just as bad as him sometimes.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Ushijima murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to the reddening spot.

Iwaizumi tugs him up, away from his neck, “You both always want to be the center of attention.”

“I take offense to that,” Ushijima responds, “I do not whine incessantly, nor do I beg for the spotlight.”

“You have different ways of doing it,” Iwaizumi replies easily, smiling at him, “But they’re equally as ridiculous.” Ushijima frowns. Iwaizumi smiles wider, kissing him again apologetically,”I need to finish this.”

“It is Sunday.”

Iwaizumi sighs, “I know.”

“It is Sunday morning.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, leaning back against the headrest. Ushijima sits up as well, letting their shoulders lean against each other. This time Iwaizumi slumps against him, letting his head rest on him.

Ushijima wipes his eye with the back of his hand tiredly, “What is this case?”

“There’s word of some drug traffickers passing through. It’s just more details about it so we can be on alert.”

“You will be careful?” Ushijima asks, pointedly.

“I’m the one in charge of worrying in this family.” Iwaizumi counters, picking back up his documents, “What should we do for breakfast?”

Ushijima shrugs, swinging his legs over to step out of the king sized bed. Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his papers. Ushijima ventures out of Oikawa’s bedroom to step into the kitchen, investigating their fridge. Unfortunately, there is nothing all that appealing within its confines. He sighs, scratching his chest distractedly. They will need to go grocery shopping tonight to avoid a fit from Oikawa upon his imminent return.

He starts making Iwaizumi’s coffee before setting up the kettle for his own morning tea. He yawns, walking down the steps to the store. He walks up to the front, opening the door and letting it chime. He bends down, picking up the newspaper wrapped at his feet, feeling his back crack pleasantly as he straightens back up.

As he does so, his eyes catch on a figure staring at him right beside him. He blinks, tired mind supplying him slowly with the information that the boy is back, standing, terrified in front of him. They stare at each other a long moment before Ushijima’s sleep addled head remembers how speaking works, “I have something for you. One moment.”

He steps back inside, shuffling behind the counter and plucking another orange peony from the plant sitting there. He ventures back out, and much to his pleasant surprise the boy has remained rooted to his spot.

He nods at him, offering him the flower. The boy takes it awkwardly, staring at the flower in awe, handing coming up to cup the many petals. Ushijima smiles, “It is nice isn’t it?”

The boy’s blue gaze flicks at him distrustfully. Ushijima continues regardless, “Peonies symbolize bravery.”

The boy stares at the flower. Then his eyes glare at the floor and before Ushijima can build up the energy to speak again, the boy has run off, head down and fingers gripping so tightly to the stem Ushijima worries it will break in half.

Still, the worry dissipates, as if the passing on of the flower has eased the knot in his shoulder. His mind still lingers on the boy, of if he’s alright, but he feels he’s done all he’s can now. And he is satisfied. It will be up to the boy what happens next.

When he comes back up the stairs with the morning paper, he hands Iwaizumi the comics, and looks through the business section himself. Iwaizumi makes him his tea once the kettle steams and they sit down on the coach side by side in a relaxed silence.

They’re interrupted by Ushijima’s phone buzzing with a text from Oikawa, listing his arrival time. Ushijima reads it allowed, looking over to Iwaizumi who simply nods. The rest of the day is spent lazily between them, punctuated only with a brief trip to the grocery store, and a stop at the local cafe to grab a milk bread for Oikawa.

Iwaizumi insists on waiting for Oikawa, but he also insists on Ushijima going to bed. Ushijima easily ignores him, seating himself down beside him on the couch. He leans against him, pressing his weight against his side and resting his head on his shoulders. Iwaizumi sighs, but acquiesces, lifting his arm to wrap around the other man’s shoulders.

They turn the TV on and flip channels until they find a movie and sink in for the night.

Ushijima does not remember falling asleep, but he is awakened by a featherlight touch sweeping his bangs. He blinks his eyes open, blearily. Oikawa’s face appears before him, tired but smiling ever so softly. Oikawa’s eyebrows upturn apologetically and he presses a finger to his lips, motioning to his side.

Iwaizumi is still asleep beside him.

Ushijima carefully stands up. Oikawa turns away to shut the television off, but Ushijima has little patience for that. He grabs him, lifting him slightly in the air in order to kiss him properly. Oikawa’s breath tickles his cheeks, “Shush, don’t wake him.”

“I have not seen you for a week,” Ushijima whispers right back.

Oikawa kisses him again, “You miss me?”

“Tooru.”

Oikawa giggles as quietly as possible, “I didn’t mean to wake you either,” he sighs, pulling away carefully, “But since you’re up, can you put him to bed?”

Ushijma nods, leaning down and slipping his arms around the sleeping man. Iwaizumi stirs slightly, eyebrows knitting together as he is lifted from the couch, but they both know he is a notoriously heavy sleeper. Oikawa takes a picture of the scene giddily, cooing, “He’s so cute like this! God, if only...”

Ushijima grunts, because Iwaizumi isn’t the lightest man in the world, and quickly takes him to Oikawa’s bedroom, the master bedroom, and sets him down carefully in the middle of the bed. He takes a moment to tuck him in, watching as he turns to nuzzle into his pillow.  
Ushijima ventures back out to the living room, finding Oikawa scanning his phone, a fresh cup of water sitting on the counter next to him. Ushijima goes to hover beside him.

Oikawa looks up at him, “Go to bed.”

“Not until you do as well,” Ushijima replies.

Oikawa looks back at his phone with a grimace, typing something out, “My sister’s texting me.”

“It is late.”

“It’s about mom.”

Ushijma frowns, hand coming up to tentatively rest on the other man’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am.”

“Are you alright?” he repeats regardless, hand reaching up to brush stray strands of brown hair from his partner’s cheeks.

“Ushiwaka.” And this time Oikawa’s voice shakes.

“You can tell me if you are not,” Ushijima insists, “I know, I know I was not alright. It is a difficult thing to ever feel alright about,” his hand glides back down to the other’s shoulder, squeezing it.

Something catches in Oikawa’s throat, and there are tears pricking at his eyes. He buries his face in Ushijima’s chest, hunched over, and Ushijima wastes little time wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close, squeezing him tight.

Oikawa shudders, fingers pulling at Ushijima’s shirt fabric for purchase, squeezing it tightly as he tries to burrow into him. Ushijima lets him do what he pleases.

Oikawa has never been a pretty cryer. His sobs are ugly and overtake his whole body, leaving him a shuddering mess. Ushijima’s one hand slides up his back to nestle in his brown hair, stroking his scalp in what he hopes to be comforting motions.

Ushijima is not sure how long it takes, but eventually Oikawa is able to regain some control, tears slipping from his eyes silently, body shaking only with the occasional hiccup. He pulls back, gulping down a breath of air as he lifts an arm up to wipe at his wet face, grimacing at the snot coating his skin.

Ushijima steps back to grab a tissue. As Oikawa blows his nose he speaks again, “I am sorry this all is happening.”

Oikawa snorts, a few more tears springing from his eyes, “I don’t understand it. They always seemed fine, better than fine. But, god, they were at each other’s throats.” Oikawa blows in his tissue again, a loud noise trumpeting out, “Nee-chan says they fought a lot when we were younger too but I can’t remember. They always seemed so quiet and I don’t know. I don’t--” he lets out a frustrated noise, and Ushijima waits patiently. Oikawa’s face forms a sneer suddenly, “Nee-chan said I shouldn’t be so surprised,” he pitches his voice a bit higher then and adds, “Where do you think you got so good at hiding your emotions from?”

He lets out a bitter laugh as he wipes at his eyes.

“Oikawa--”

“Stop,” Oikawa orders, grabbing another tissue, “I don’t wanna cry anymore. I’m a grown man.”

“It’s alright.”

“I want to go to bed,” Oikawa sighs, “I want to go to bed and not think about the past five days of hell. Can’t I do that, Ushiwaka?”

“Of course.”

They both slip into Oikawa’s bedroom with little ceremony, Ushijima crawling straight to bed, taking Iwaizumi’s left side while Oikawa fumbles toward his closet blindly. He slips off his clothes, leaving himself only in his boxers before venturing out to the bed. He slips in on Iwaizumi’s right, nuzzling tiredly into his pillow.

Ushijima watches as Oikawa peeks his eyes open to stare at Iwaizumi’s sleeping face, a finger lifting up to trace his brows. Iwaizumi lets out a sleepy grunt, face twitching. Oikawa bites down a tired chuckle. His brown eyes catch gold, and he smiles a bit wider at Ushijima, arm stretching out to take his hand in his own.

Ushijima squeezes back.

Oikawa falls asleep soon after that.

Ushijima stays up a bit longer, eyes focused on the cieling, mind muddling through the recent conversation, as well as everything from the past week. He frowns.

He had yet to tell Oikawa about the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting a new multi-fic completely to satisfy my own need for established UshIwaOi healthy polyamory.
> 
> Please fall into this hell with me. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think so far!
> 
> See you next time.


	2. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows Ushijima is self-conscious of this, of his stoic face and blunt words, but Iwaizumi can’t help but love those aspects of his lover. Because they are a part of him, stone gates protecting his golden heart. It made the cracks in those stone walls, little fissures of a smile, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, all the more savory.

Iwaizumi yawns into his hand, sitting up and letting his feet slide off the dashboard. He lets his hand drag down his face, catching on his skin slightly. He sighs, cracking his neck a little. 

“Not enough sleep last night?” Daichi asks dryly, taking a bite of his chicken wrap. 

“Rough morning,” Iwaizumi replies, “Kyoutani made another mess I had to clean up for him.”

“You can’t fight all his battles,” his partner reminds him, giving him a knowing side-eye.

Iwaizumi rolls his own eyes, “He’s still learning. Just give him time.”

“Your patience astounds me.”

Iwaizumi cracks a smile, tipping his hat up, “You’ve met Oikawa.”

Daichi lets out a bark of a laugh, caught off guard as it slips past his lips. He chuckles into his wrap and Iwaizumi can’t help breaking into his own grin, playfully slapping the man’s shoulder, “Hey, don’t be an ass.”

“I’m the ass? You’re the one who said it.”

“I’m allowed to say it, I’ve earned it.” Iwaizumi replies, leaning back against his seat. He stares out at the darkened street, nothing still coming into view, “How much longer are we stuck out here?”

Daichi quiets down as he glances at the car clock, doing some mental math, “Another hour at least.”

Iwaizumi groans, “Alright.” He twists around, reaching for a bag of chips in the back, grimacing when the one he spots is salt and vinegar flavor, “You like this crap?”

Daichi blinks, glancing at the package, “Suga’s a big fan,” he shrugs. 

Iwaizumi sighs as he opens it up, “Oikawa swears by them,” He digs a hand in and shoves a chip into his mouth. He grimaces, tongue puckering at the taste, “Awful.”

“You don’t have to eat them,” Daichi points out.

“They’re the only chips here,” Iwaizumi counters, popping another chip in his mouth, with slightly less disgust. 

“How’s he doing, by the way?” Daichi asks after a beat of silence, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

Iwaizumi feels his easy smile slip, the salt burning at his tongue--or maybe it’s the vinegar, “He’s fine.”

Daichi hums, hands squeezing the steering wheel, dropping the subject. They sit in an awkward silence, only punctuated with the crunching of chips every few seconds. Until, finally, Daichi speaks up again, “So what did Kyoutani do this time?”

Iwaizumi snorts, memories flooding him suddenly as he straightens himself up again, licking at a salty finger, “He’s such a moron. You know Yahaba?”

“Who?”

“Yahaba Shigeru?”

“Sounds familiar but I can’t place it.”

“He’s a junior lawyer at the firm Oikawa works at. He’s always at the courthouse though, doing god knows what there. Anyway, I asked Kyoutani to go to the courthouse to drop off some documents with the court secretary. This moron barges in there and assumes Yahaba is the secretary, barking at him to file these away properly and what not. I guess you haven’t met Yahaba, but he is one vengeful person. So, apparently, he played along, acting like some sort of sweet secretary before rolling into Kyoutani about his absolute disrespect. Really shattered his ego. Yahaba wrote up a full complaint and sent it over and I’ve had to deal with it ever since.”

“Jeeze,” Daichi mumbles, “That’s...really bad.”

Iwaizumi waves it off, “Yahaba was trying to scare him, we talked about it, it’s fine. I think it may have worked, I’ve never seen Kyoutani so terrified and quiet.” He laughs, “It was pretty funny.”

Daichi nods slowly, face still morphed in sour disbelief, “I don’t know how you do it. Tanaka can get rowdy but he means well, and he always listens to me in the end.”

“Must be nice,” Iwaizumi sighs, but he keeps his smile on regardless, “I don’t mind honestly, it adds some spice in my life. Kyoutani’s a good kid, deep down. I’m happy to help guide him along.”

Daichi hums, fingers again coming up to squeeze the bottom of the steering wheel, dark eyes staring straight ahead at the shady road in front of him. His features soften, lips curling up and he murmurs, “You sound just like a proud father.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, leaning an elbow against the car door to rest his head on his palm. Fingers dig into his cheek, another stressor rippling through his stomach, and he tries to swallow it down as best he can, covering himself up with an offended sigh, “You callin’ me old?”

Daichi rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious, Iwaizumi. You’d make a great dad.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, willing this conversation to evaporate with the hunch of his shoulders. He stays quiet, eyes focused on the road. He eats another shitty chip to occupy his mouth with something. 

Iwaizumi has always wanted children. Has always wanted to be a dad to some little bundle of joy. He thinks it probably started with him being an only child. He remembers when he was younger begging his parents countless times for a little brother, hell even a little sister, but to no avail. 

He remembers feeling incredibly envious when Oikawa’s nephew was born. He hated how ungrateful Oikawa had been about the whole thing. “ _Nee-chan made me hold Takeru after he was born and he was so squirmy and ugly it was awful,_ ” he remembers his best friend saying at the time. 

Iwaizumi never got a younger sibling, and so he set his sights on having his own child. But life has a funny way of impeding his dreams because instead he falls in love with Oikawa and Ushijima, two men with little to no interest in children. Correction: in the former’s case, he absolutely abhors them.

Oikawa has always been disgusted by children, even when he was one. Iwaizumi recalls countless times, Oikawa--always more mature than his peers, gifted, ahead of the curve--sneering at how dirty, how loud, how _annoying_ kids were. Iwaizumi had always been incredibly annoyed at this because he loved rolling around in the mud and hunting for bugs and running and screaming. And he knew Oikawa did too, deep down inside whenever Iwaizumi coerced him to play one of _his_ games for once. 

Oikawa’s disdain for children only grew as he did. Iwaizumi remembers, one specific conversation with an upsetting amount of clarity, having burned it into his mind through the constant replays at night. They were in a cafe, back in college, waiting for Ushijima to return with their drink orders. A mother was trying to shush her toddler, screaming and crying by the counter. She was unsuccessful and soon ushered him outside with a flurry of apologies to the barista. 

Oikawa had turned to him once the door closed behind her, rolling his eyes, mouth formed in a cruel sneer, “Thank god, we’ll never have to deal with an accident like that.”

And Iwaizumi had been unable to reply, mouth suddenly dry, fingers gripping the table tightly. And for once Oikawa did not seem to notice, gaze shifting to Ushijima as he brought over their cups and sat down with them.

Iwaizumi sees he’s clenched his fists while recalling the memory and tries to ease his fingers, letting them spread out on his knees. Tries to take in a breath without letting Daichi realize he’d been holding it in for so long. 

He’s never talked to Oikawa about his desire for children. The other’s hatred had made the outcome of the conversation too obvious to even begin it. He’s mentioned it in passing, as a minuscule desire to Ushijima, but the other man had only shrugged, the deeper meaning of the conversation passing over his head. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to hear about how great a dad he could be when he knows he will never be one. 

The car roars to life, and Iwaizumi almost jumps out of his seat, one hand moving instinctively to his hip while he swivels to look at Daichi. The man gives him a quizzical look, “We’re done,” he explains. 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi swallows, settling himself back down. 

Daichi snorts, “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open for a bit there?”

“Just drive. I want to go home.” Iwaizumi retorts, perhaps a bit childishly as he squirms uncomfortably in his seat. He’s getting too old to sit in one place for so long. He feels his leg cramping up. 

Daichi rolls his eyes, but the oncoming silence is amicable. The roads are mostly empty at this hour. The streetlights bright and glaring. Iwaizumi lets out another yawn, and in the millisecond his eyes squeeze shut he almost misses him. 

Almost. 

He blinks, sitting up and leaning over the stick shift to stare out of Daichi’s window. Said driver sends him a weird look, while also trying to keep his eyes on the road. 

Iwaizumi has no time for that, lurching backward to stare out the back window of the car. Through the glass, he can see a young, gangly figure shuffling down the road. He has dark short hair, a bandage under his eye, and in one hand he twirls an orange flower. 

“Daichi, pullover!”

“What?”

“I said pullover!”

Daichi spins the wheel, braking harshly as he pulls onto the side of the thankfully deserted road. Iwaizumi hops out of the car, and at that point realizes he doesn’t have a plan at all. The kid has frozen in place right in front of him. He’s clutching the stem of his flower tightly, too tightly, Iwaizumi thinks, Ushijima’s words reverberating in his mind. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi starts, holding a hand out, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The boy is staring at him, wide-eyed. He takes a step back. 

“I’ve seen you around,” Iwaizumi lies because this is the first time he’s seen the kid haunting his partner’s storefront, but it’s easier this way, less explaining, “And I’ve been worried. Are you doing alright?”

The boy looks taken aback like it’s the first time a person has asked him that question. His mouth wobbles, face contorting into a mixture of emotions, too many for a young kid to already be experiencing. 

Iwaizumi gives him a soft smile, “I’ll be at the flower shop tomorrow afternoon if you wanna talk. Do you need a ride home?”

The boy shakes his head almost violently, and before Iwaizumi can say anything further he is scampering away. Iwaizumi sighs, looking back over to Daichi sitting in the car, “What was that about? You know him?”

“Some kid Ushiwaka’s worried about,” Iwaizumi explains, “I’m sure he’s fine, just sneaking out. If we had our uniforms on we could have probably scared him straight,” he jokes, but it doesn’t come off genuine, his jaw a bit tense. 

He’d never seen a kid so terrified, so confused, at nothing. Face contorting from fear to guilt to confusion and misery. Maybe Ushiwaka was onto something. Maybe the kid needed help. 

Maybe. 

“Let’s head back,” Iwaizumi continues before Daichi has a chance to question him further, “I’m too tired to think anymore.”

* * *

Iwaizumi steps into the flower shop, ignoring the chime. Two customers look up for a moment before returning to their browsing. Ushijima pokes his head up from below the counter, blinking and giving a small wave.

Iwaizumi comes up to him, leaning against the counter, crooking an elbow against it, “Hey.”

“This is a surprise,” Ushijima states, tilting his head, “Do you only have a half day today?”

Iwaizumi blows some of his own bangs out of his eyes. His hair is getting too long. He shakes his head, “I set up a potential meeting with someone out here. We’ll see if he shows.”

Ushijima furrows his brows at him, but before he can question him further, a customer motions him over and he leaves his post. Iwaizumi loiters, fiddling with the seed packets, reading the directions on the back, shaking his head at all the different things that make up dirt. 

He keeps flicking his gaze out the window. 

The seed packets bore him and, eventually, he ends up simply watching Ushijima as he speaks to his customers. The woman worries at Ushijima, hands coming up to wave around as she describes her bouquet needs and the pressing matter of it all. Ushijima takes it all in stride, face serious, nodding along and absorbing everything with his patented sternness. Every worry a customer has is met with the same serious validation and earnestly crafted solution.

It’s so endearing it almost kills Iwaizumi, and he has half a mind to not clutch at his heart. 

He knows Ushijima is self-conscious of this, of his stoic face and blunt words, but Iwaizumi can’t help but love those aspects of his lover. Because they are a part of him, stone gates protecting his golden heart. It made the cracks in those stone walls, little fissures of a smile, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, all the more savory. 

What was not to love?

He watches as Ushijima leads the woman to the other side of the shop, pointing at certain flowers and giving detailed explanations of all her options. Iwaizumi smiles, glancing back toward the window. 

He starts.

The boy is there, nervously tugging at his hoodie, even though it’s still much too hot for one. They lock eyes through the window, and Iwaizumi can almost feel the boy’s panic through the glass. He fears he might just bolt, but the boy stays planted. 

Iwaizumi steps out of the shop and waves. 

The boy stares at him, and then much to Iwaizumi’s surprise, he speaks. Well, it sounds more like a quiet hiss, “I didn’t know you were a policeman...”

Iwaizumi blinks, the boy’s choice of words making him pause, the childish curl around his title, rather than something more mature, _officer_. He had thought the boy to be late middle school, early high school, but taking in his slightly pudgy face and his vocabulary, he may be a lot younger than he looks. 

Iwaizumi holds out his hand, “Officer Iwaizumi Hajime,” he offers, with a smile. 

The boy stares at his hand. 

Iwaizumi takes the hint, lifting his hand to ruffle the boy’s hair. He tenses beneath his touch, feet skittering back. Iwaizumi frowns, bringing his hand back.

The boy swallows, fingers digging into his own palms, eyebrows furrowing into a scowl, “Am I in trouble?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi shrugs, “Did you do something wrong?”

The boy scowls harder, face contorting, hands shoving into the pockets of his pants. Iwaizumi smiles at him, hopes to alleviate the stress on his little shoulders,  “You’re not in trouble.”

The boy kicks the ground.

“What’s your name?”

The boy’s shoulders shrug inward and he hesitates a moment, “...Kageyama.”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi repeats, with a nod, “Well, Kageyama, would you like to come inside?”

Kageyama stares at him, then flicks his gaze at the flower shop. Iwaizumi keeps smiling, “I’m sure the owner would love to meet you properly.”

Something flits across Kageyama’s eyes, a mixture of fear, anxiety, and longing. Iwaizumi pulls his arm back to open the door. Kageyama eyes the gesture, and Iwaizumi can see how tense his arms are, as his fingers pull at the fabric inside his pants’ pockets. Iwaizumi makes note of it. 

Constantly fiddling. Antsy. Anxious. 

It looks like a habit.

More than a habit.

It looks like Oikawa.

* * *

Iwaizumi remembers the worst night. Remembers almost sleeping right through it like the oblivious idiot he tends to be. He would have too if Ushijima had not been there.

He remembers Ushijima prodding at his sleeping form making him groan and blink at him. Remembers barely making out the fear in his golden eyes, the way his fingers slightly trembled as they dug into Iwaizumi’s arm pleadingly, forcing him to sit up.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, voice gruff with sleep. 

“It is Oikawa,” Ushijima hisses, “He is still awake.”

Iwaizumi glances at the clock, groaning, “That idiot.”

“No,” Ushijima whispers, fingers tightening their grip, “It is. It is different. I...I don’t know what to do, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi remembers following Ushijima out to the shared room of their tiny apartment and seeing Oikawa sitting at their dingy kitchen table, hunched over, feet drawn up to perch on the edge of the rickety chair, practically folding himself in half. 

The light of the laptop in front of him is blinding, and Iwaizumi knows what’s on the screen without having to look at the reflection in his glasses. And he doesn’t know why Ushijima is so worked up about this, because Oikawa overworks himself all the time, infuriatingly enough. But as Iwaizumi’s mind focuses more, dread begins to pool in his stomach, cementing him to the floor.

Oikawa has not noticed them, thick headphones covering his ears, eyes glued to the screen. A hand comes away from his face, to press a key and his face winces. 

His hands are bloody. 

Iwaizumi tenses. 

“Oikawa,” he says.

No response.

“Oikawa,” he says louder.

No response.

“Oikawa!” he shouts.

Oikawa jumps, hands slamming his laptop shut, plunging them all into darkness. 

By the time Ushijima manages to flick on the lights, Iwaizumi has found his way to Oikawa’s trembling form. The taller man has ripped his headphones from his head, staring at Iwaizumi incomprehensibly, slowly regaining his senses.

Oikawa has the audacity to laugh it off, “Iwa-chan! You scared me with your brutish voice! Gosh, I thought you were asleep!”

Iwaizumi is not here to play. “Show me your hands,” he orders.

Oikawa swallows, chuckling still, “Iwa-chan, you’re always so grumpy after you wake up. Go back to sleep.”

“Show me your hands.”

“Ushiwaka-chan, Iwa-chan’s being mean to me. Can you go tuck him in for me? He needs his beauty sleep more than the rest of us.”  
  
“Oikawa, please show him your hands,” Ushijima says this time. 

Oikawa’s hands remain tightly fisted at his sides, and they go a step further, balling up into his pockets. Iwaizumi glares harder, “Oikawa.”

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan.”

“Oikawa.”  
  
“I’m fine!”

“Show me your hands.”

“Leave me alone!” Oikawa shouts, standing up with enough force to knock the chair over, “I’m fine. I need to study.”

“Oikawa.”

There are frustrated tears beginning to bead at Oikawa’s eyes, his heart is starting to hammer in his chest, body trembling with fatigue now shaken up by a sudden panic, “Go away! Why won’t you let me study? I need to study!”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says again, hands coming up to touch Oikawa’s arms, right by his biceps.

Oikawa tries to squirm away from him, managing to backpedal into Ushijima’s broad chest. Oikawa gasps, breaths coming too fast, chest beginning to heave. 

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says it this time. 

Oikawa lets out a frustrated scream, hands coming out to fiddle with his hair, fiddle with his sleeve, with anything despite how much it hurts to do so, “I have to study! The exam is in two days,” but he hiccups after every other word, breaths coming out ragged. He feels dizzy. His arms almost feel numb, vibrating with a weird hum at his sides.

It’s like he’s dying. 

If he doesn’t keep studying he’ll die. 

If he doesn’t do it perfectly he’ll die. 

He is going to die. 

He’s dying.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cuts through, “Breathe.”

Oikawa takes in a gulping breath, just as Ushijima’s arms wrap around him from behind, pressing him closer to his chest. Oikawa can feel his heartbeat against him, beating so much slower than his own. His heart feels like it’s going to burst right from his chest or beat so fast it just gives up and stops. 

He’s dying.

“..2..1, now let it out,” he catches the tail end of what Iwaizumi is saying, and lets out the breath he had somehow held until then, “Good,” Iwaizumi says, “Now, again.”

Oikawa breathes in, squeezing his eyes shut, and lets it out when Iwaizumi tells him to. His fingers twitch at his sides, begging to pull at the hem of his shirt, play with the string of his pants, but he focuses on keeping himself completely still. Focuses on Ushijima’s heartbeat, on Iwaizumi’s words. 

Oikawa does not know how long it takes to feel like he is not dying, but eventually, his breathing returns to a normal rhythm and he can open his eyes. 

“Can I see your hands?” Iwaizumi says, softly, so softly. 

Oikawa lets out a pitiful sniffle, that he kicks himself for mentally but slowly lifts up his mutilated hands, nails bitten down enough to draw blood. Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow and Oikawa tenses up. 

But Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, simply brings the fingers up to his mouth to kiss them, and that, along with Ushijima’s head suddenly burrowing into the crook of his neck is enough to send Oikawa crying once more. 

Ushijima makes them warm tea. Iwaizumi sits them all down together on the couch. Oikawa answers their questions.

_Yes, it’s happened before._

_No, it’s never been this bad._

_I don’t know why tonight._

_I didn’t want to make you worry._

Iwaizumi remembers feeling terrible for weeks. 

* * *

Iwaizumi remembers as he holds the door out to the child patiently, and eventually, Kageyama takes his first step in.

“His name is Ushijima-san,” Iwaizumi supplies, crouching slightly as he comes to stand beside Kageyama’s nervous form, “He looks scary but he’s actually very nice.”

“He doesn’t look scary,” Kageyama huffs, scowling, shoulders hunching inward to keep from touching Iwaizumi. It’s as if he’s offended for Ushijima’s sake, and Iwaizumi can’t help the smile overtaking his face. 

Ushijima looks over at them, eyes blinking in surprise at the boy beside Iwaizumi. He bows his head down to the customer, speaking softly to her before striding over to them. He stops, awkwardly in front of the boy and the two stare at each other curiously, similar stern expressions overtaking their faces.

Iwaizumi wants to laugh but he doesn’t. 

Iwaizumi wants to take a picture to share with Oikawa, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, he plays mediator, a familiar role, “Kageyama, this is Ushijima, Ushijima, this is Kageyama.”

Ushijima nods, “It is nice to meet you, Kageyama.”

The boy’s face seems to redden, and he chokes on his own greeting, barking it out with horrible difficulty. But Ushijima just nods, with a certain sense of understanding, and keeps speaking for him, “Do you like flowers?”

Kageyama reddens more, fists straining in his pants pockets. 

Ushijima nods again, “Come with me,” he orders, and that seems to be something Kageyama is more comfortable with. A direct, simple, statement easy to follow, and something he can acknowledge without words. He simply trudges after Ushijima, with the singular focus only a child is really capable of. 

Iwaizumi smiles. 

He heads briefly upstairs to prepare himself a lunch. A simple sandwich with whatever leftover meat he can find in the fridge. He quickly makes another one, a bit neater, wrapping it up carefully. If he had more time he would have made it cuter, maybe shaped it in the form of some kind of animal, but his lunch break wasn’t going to last forever. 

When he heads back down he finds Ushijima working with another customer, and Kageyama sitting up on the stool behind the front desk, fingers clenched around the laminated flower language chart. He looks up when Iwaizumi approaches him, and for once his blue eyes are merely curious and not hounded with fear. 

Iwaizumi smiles at him, “Not sure if you’re hungry, but I’m starving. I made sandwiches, you want one?”

The boy’s eyes widen, and he stares at the offered treat, taking it wordlessly. He unwraps and bites into it, messily, scarfing it down quick. Iwaizumi blinks at him, but the boy doesn’t look underfed from what he can see. He might just be a fast eater. 

Kageyama wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then quickly ducks his head down, “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi ruffles his hair, “You’re welcome, Kageyama.”

Kageyama frowns, but not nearly as severely as before and then looks back at the flower sheet. Iwaizumi glances at it too, “Did Ushijima show you that?”

Kageyama nods, “Did you know you can talk to people with just flowers?” the boy continues, harsh voice lilting a bit higher in newfound excitement, “You cant mess up your words if its just flowers.”

Iwaizumi softens a little, “And what do you want to say?”

Kageyama stills then, mouth stretching into a severe scowl not fit for someone so young. Iwaizumi wants to press, see if he can get some more information out, but then the chime of the door rings out. 

“Iwa-chan! What are you doing here?” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, child forgotten as he levels his boyfriend a glare, “I live here, Trashykawa, what kind of question is that?”

Oikawa sticks out his tongue, striding over, “We could have walked over together, you grump!” he whines, arms circling his neck to hang off of him. Iwaizumi has to readjust his footing so as not to fall, but he does so without a word. 

“I’m actually about to leave,” he grunts, “Are you only getting off for lunch now?”

“There’s a lot to catch up on Iwa-chan. If you were so worried you should have come to my office and brought me lunch like a good house husband. Like you used to when you loved me.”

“You’re such an ass,” Iwaizumi huffs, pulling himself free from the other’s grip, “Go eat before you get a headache.”

“Yes, yes,” Oikawa sighs, but his brown eyes catch upon the current attendant behind the counter, “Oh, but what have we here?”

Iwaizumi suddenly remembers Kageyama and quickly looks over at him. The boy’s eyes are wide, drinking in Oikawa as best he can, mouth parted slightly in either awe or terror. Iwaizumi could not tell. 

Oikawa’s smirk stretches, leaning down toward the boy to fill up all his vision, “My, my, Ushiwaka-chan’s new assistant is so cute!” he compliments, a hand reaching out to pinch Kageyama’s cheek. Kageyama startles, mouth sputtering, unable to perform words but arms coming out to shield himself. 

Oikawa laughs, straightening himself up, an wiping his hand on his pants, “I’ll see you later, Iwa-chan,” he calls as he heads to the back, swinging toward Ushijima as he goes to let his fingers dance along his shoulder blades teasingly. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, turning back to Kageyama, who’s hand is touching his cheek almost reverentially. 

“Kageyama?”

Kageyama jumps a little in his chair, face neutralizing as he lets his hand bunch back into his pant’s pocket. 

“I’m heading back to the station. Do you need a ride home?”

Kageyama looks down at the counter, “Can I stay here?”

“As long as Ushijima lets you. But make sure your parents know, alright?” Iwaizumi says, carefully. Something passes over Kageyama’s face, like the brightness in his blue eyes, the wonder inhabited within it when he had studied his flower chart, or stared at Oikawa’s face was extinguished. But he doesn’t scowl, or frown, he just stares at him blankly and gives a little nod. 

Iwaizumi takes this all in, files it away, as he heads back to work. He makes a note to start searching their database for the Kageyama family. 

Something wasn’t right here.

* * *

Later that evening, when Oikawa excuses himself from the table suddenly with a lit up phone in his hand, Iwaizumi is able to tell Ushijima.

“He’s an orphan,” Iwaizumi says, quietly. 

Ushijima, whose eyes had been following Oikawa as he left the table to enter his bedroom snapped back to Iwaizumi, “Kageyama?”

Iwaizumi nods, “I looked the name up. Mother died a year ago, he’s been at the orphanage ever since. He’s eleven.”

Ushijima frowns.

“What happened after I left?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“I let him stay,” Ushijima replies, carefully taking another bite of his meal, “We did not talk much. He asked me if he could come back tomorrow. I asked him if he had school tomorrow. He said no, so I told him it was alright.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “He most definitely has school tomorrow. I’ll look into it more.”

“Is this alright? To be taking such an active interest?” Ushijima asks, lowly.

“You’re the one that started this,” Iwaizumi reminds, taking a bite of his rice with a smile, “Something’s not adding up here and I want to get to the bottom of it. It’s my job.”

Ushijima sighs, “It seems as though you make everything your job, Hajime. Do not overextend yourself.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “I’m fine.”

“Mom! Will you just listen to me?! Please?” Oikawa’s shout cracks through the closed bedroom door, ending their shortlived conversation. 

The pair at the dining table share a look before keeping their gaze on the door. 

Waiting. 

Waiting. 

Waiting.

“I’m only raising my voice because you’ve been screaming at me this whole time! Put Fumiko on the phone. No, mom, I want to hear from Fumiko. Put her on. Mom, mom, stop, just, put Fu--Nee-chan! Finally, what the hell is going on!?”

Iwaizumi feels his heart clenching, fingers digging into the chopsticks in his hand. Oikawa’s voice is strained as he yells, fear-laced between the spaces of his words, crackling every now. He wants to go in there and put the phone away so Oikawa can calm down and not deal with whatever catastrophe is going on. Wrap his arms around him and remind him how to breathe. 

Oikawa’s mother has always been a quiet, calming force. Iwaizumi loves her, almost as much as he loves his own mother. Loves the way she used to tuck him in and offer him his own goodnight kiss when he slept over. Loves that she would pack extra desserts in Oikawa’s lunch just for him. There are so many wonderful memories from the past almost three decades of his life that come up when he thinks of her. None of them included her yelling. 

Because Oikawa’s mother never yelled. Never once raised her voice, as far as Iwaizumi knew. And he was around more often than not. Why would she be yelling now? So much so that Oikawa had to scream back, crying to speak to his sister instead?

Fears populate Iwaizumi’s mind. 

Oikawa’s mother is hurt. Oikawa’s mother is dying. Oikawa’s sister is the only person with her and they need help. They’re hysterical. They’re desperate. They’re confused. They need help, and Oikawa is the first person they turn to, and he feels powerless being so far away. It must be something awful, for Oikawa’s mother to be shouting like this. 

It must be. 

“I can’t,” Oikawa says, through the door, and he’s no longer yelling, but Ushijima and Iwaizumi had wordlessly gotten up to stand near the door, “You know I cant, Nee-chan. It’s too soon.”

Iwaizumi frowns. 

Oikawa lets out a long, aggravated sigh, “I’ll call him, ok? But I cant go back already.”

There’s such little time between the end of that sentence to Oikawa starting the next that Iwaizumi figures he must be interrupting his sister, “I’m not leaving you! Just, I have to go. I’m not leaving. I’ll call him. I’ll text you soon. I love you.”

Ushijima and Iwaizumi move quickly back to the table, resuming their meal before Oikawa steps out of the bedroom. He looks tired, fingers pressing into the middle of his forehead. He pockets his phone and slips back into his chair. 

“Everything alright?” Iwaizumi asks, without looking away from his food.

“You’re such a bad liar, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa comments, “You really think I couldn’t hear you both lumbering outside my door?”

“What happened?” Ushijima asks instead. 

Oikawa shrugs, “Nothing, really.”

“Is your Mom ok?” Iwaizumi asks. 

Oikawa grits his teeth, “Mom’s peachy.”

“She was yelling.”

“She was overreacting is what she was doing,” Oikawa glowers. 

“Be nice to your mother,” Iwaizumi says, mostly out of habit. 

Oikawa snarls, “Fuck off, Hajime.”

There is a beat of silence. An eternity of silence.Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa, mouth parted, eyebrows furrowed in shock. Oikawa doesn’t look at him. Wont look at him. More silence. And then Oikawa’s chair is screeching back as he gets up. 

“I have to make another phone call,” he mutters, and he walks away, this time to their balcony, sliding the door open and slamming it shut. 

Ushijima stands up as well, before Iwaizumi can, “Allow me to speak with him.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to speak with him. He’s pissed. He’s furious. He wants to punch him in the fucking face for talking to him like that, in that tone, with that name. He won’t of course. Would never. But he still can’t wrap his head around Oikawa’s sudden fury, the hate that seeped into his language. He had fought with OIkawa all his life but he had never heard such malice directed at him.

Iwaizumi is hurt. 

He watches from his spot at the table as Ushijima slips into the balcony. Watches as Oikawa yells at him. Watches as Ushijima says something that makes Oikawa deflate, makes him shrink in on himself and hold his face in his hands. 

Ushijima has never been good with his words and yet.

_What did he say?_

Ushijima is still speaking and Oikawa is shaking his head. And then Ushijima has his hands on Oikawa’s shoulders, squeezing. But Oikawa still refuses to look up. And then Ushijima says something, hand moving to take Oikawa’s face, bringing it up. 

And Oikawa blinks, and his gaze locks on Iwaizumi’s through the glass. And Iwaizumi can see his own hurt reflected back in those beautiful brown eyes. There’s something broken in Oikawa’s face, a defeat that hangs from his fringe that Iwaizumi’s never seen before either. He forgets himself, as he tends to when it comes to Oikawa. 

Because it’s Oikawa.

Because he loves Oikawa. 

He doesn’t remember getting out of his chair, doesn’t remember taking quick strides, but he’s at the glass door grappling with it to open it. And then he’s outside and Oikawa is already in his arms, clinging to him tightly, fingers digging into his back.

Iwaizumi buries his face in the crook of his neck. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hisses, face wet, “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to, I just--“

“It’s alright,” Iwaizumi murmurs, “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Oikawa says, “It’s not, and you know it.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say, so he occupies his mouth with kissing him and fortunately Oikawa complies greedily. Breath hitching every so often, but never enough to disrupt them. 

“It’s going to be ok,” Iwaizumi reminds, when they pull away, “Everything’s going to be ok.”

Oikawa gives a nod, but Iwaizumi can tell it's not sincere. He doesn’t believe him. Iwaizumi wants to make him believe him. He’s just not sure how. 

Ushijima places a hand on each of their shoulders, “We should go inside. I do not want the plants to feed off our negative emotions.”

Oikawa bursts into laughter, clinging to Iwaizumi with renewed purpose, other arm going to clutch his stomach. Iwaizumi can’t help join him in his giggles, at the straight-faced absurdity that is their beloved Ushiwaka. It’s exactly what they needed. 

Ushijima is used to this, letting out a monotonous sigh and herding them back into their apartment with little else to say. They find themselves sandwiched together on the couch, Oikawa more so lounging on top of them rather than the couch itself. 

Iwaizumi runs his hands along Oikawa’s legs, pushing the fabric of his pants up so he can trace designs across the flawless skin, writing a wordless apology. 

“I do have to call him,” Oikawa sighs, to Ushijima, legs fidgeting a little under Iwaizumi’s ministration.

“Tomorrow,” Ushijima decides, “It is better to cool off, first.”

Oikawa nods after a moment, face leaning into Ushijima’s chest. Iwaizumi frowns at the swirls he’s making around Oikawa’s left knee, “Call who?” he asks quietly, a hint of trepidation.

Oikawa seems to hesitate, and Iwaizumi catches it only because it never happens. There’s never really been any hesitations between them, but Oikawa pushes through, “My dad.”

Iwaizumi decides not to press. Oikawa’s family life has become a recent landmine, to pick through carefully. He’d already fucked it up in the last half hour and he was energy-less to try again now. It had always been so easy, Oikawa’s life, his family, his friends. Iwaizumi knew all these topics, was part of all these circle, so intimately he had never needed to think twice about saying anything surrounding them. 

This was clearly no longer the case. 

Ushijima presses a kiss to Oikawa’s temple, murmuring something softly, that Oikawa gives a quiet hum to. Iwaizumi can’t hear any of it and he tries not to let it bother him. 

It bothers him. 

* * *

Iwaizumi finds the flower shop closed when he comes by during his lunch break. He frowns, pulling out his keys and unlocking the door, closing it correctly behind him. He calls into the store curiously and hears Ushijima’s voice echo out from the back. He opens the door to the back, shelves crowded with supplies and freshly planted pots. He coughs, the scent of dirt and fertilizer hitting him off guard.

He waves his hand, and steps forward, blinking at the sight before him. 

Kageyama stands by the table in the center of the room, beside Ushijima, wearing an apron much too big for himself. Despite best efforts, he is covered in dirt, hands coated with soil sleeves, blue eyes sharp and critical. He hasn't even looked up, too focused on the task at hand. Transferring a tiny plant to a new, bigger pot. 

“Is the hole big enough?” Ushijima asks.

Kageyama nods. 

“Then you can place it inside.”

Kageyama bites his lip, lifting the tiny plant with its clump of dirt and gangly roots and carefully settling it into his new home. He pats the dirt around it, letting Ushijima coach him through the process with a few words and a guiding hand. 

Something about the scene touches Iwaizumi’s heart, and he finds himself sneaking his phone out to take a picture. He feels guilty about it once it’s snapped, slipping the phone back into his pocket. Luckily, neither of the participants seemed to have noticed. 

Finally, Iwaizumi takes a step forward, “Hello Kageyama.”

Kageyama blinks up at him, “Hello Iwaizumi-san,” he murmurs back.

Ushijima checks over the plant, letting a small smile grace his features, “You did well, Kageyama.”

Kageyama shines, blue eyes sparkling, a sudden hop in his step as Iwaizumi approaches. He points at the plant, ”It’s a Tsubaki but it’s still small. It means perfection and stuff.”

“Does it?” Iwaizumi smiles.

Kageyama nods vigorously. Ushijima grabs a marker, “Write your name on the pot, so you know which one is yours.”

Kageyama takes the marker, carefully penning down the characters of his name. He is meticulous and yet the characters are written in worse handwriting than Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi waits patiently for him to finish, “You hungry?”

Kageyama nods. Iwaizumi motions to the large sink in the room and helps Kageyama take off his dirty apron. He turns on the water, helping the boy clean off his arms and face, wiping away at him with a damp towel. Kageyama is mostly pliant in his arms, tensing every so often but quickly relaxing when he realizes he’s freezing up. 

Once he’s been cleaned off they wave goodbye to Ushijima and step out of the shop. Iwaizumi buys Kageyama an onigiri from the local conbini, watching the boy devour it greedily. When he finishes he speaks up again, “Shouldn’t you be in school, Kageyama?”

Kageyama scowls at the ground and shakes his head. 

Iwaizumi sighs, crouching down to face him better, “School’s in session Kageyama, you should be there. Learning.”

Kageyama shakes his head again, brows severe, “Got suspended.”

Iwaizumi blinks at the newfound information, “What for?”

Kageyama shrugs, fingers twitching at his sides, beginning to fidget with the end of his shirt, “Fighting.”

Iwaizumi frowns himself, wondering how this sweet little boy could find himself in any sort of fight. He just seemed quiet. But his face could be quite scary, he supposes, to the untrained eye. 

“When do you go back?” Iwaizumi asks, instead. 

Kageyama shrugs again. 

Iwaizumi crosses his arms, letting them rest across his crouched knees, “Kageyama, can you take me where you live?”

Kageyama looks at him, face warped in confusion, “Why?”

“I want to see it and meet the people you live with,” Iwaizumi responds carefully. 

Kageyama stares at him, eyes clouding over with distrust, “Am I in trouble?”

“No, Kageyama, you’re not in trouble. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

Kageyama shrugs, but his hands dig deep holes in his pockets. He’s uncomfortable, but he starts walking down the street, and Iwaizumi is compelled to follow him. 

It’s a far walk. Iwaizumi should have driven, all things considered, but it’s too late to go back and do so. The walk is silent, Kageyama staring at the ground as he walks, Iwaizumi keeping pace with him and taking in his surroundings. 

The neighborhood begins to crumble around him, though he expected as much. He’s a police officer, he gets called to this area at least once a week over some new crime. Usually petty, sometimes not. He keeps close to Kageyama, but it’s broad daylight out. They should be fine. 

The orphanage is a bit beat up, the sign for it faded and mostly unreadable. Kageyama knocks on the door and a tired old woman opens it. She stares at Iwaizumi with surprise, then glares back down at Kageyama, “What did you do this time?”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything, simply pushes his way through and disappearing inside. The woman lets out a tired sigh, smiling sadly at Iwaizumi, “Officer, I’m so sorry. What did he do?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “I was just walking him home, is all,” he offers his hand, “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

* * *

Iwaizumi waits a few days, mulling over his words, his thoughts. There’s a lot to think about. A lot to examine and evaluate and wonder. And none of it is easy. But he knows what the right thing to do is, what he would do.

But it’s not his decision to make. 

Well, not just _his_ decision to make. It’s _their_ decision to make. 

But he’s not sure how to bring it up, how to talk about it.

So he decides to start small. 

Oikawa is occupied on the phone, a common occurrence nowadays, locked away in his bedroom. Ushijima is filling his spray bottle at the sink. Iwaizumi walks over to him, taking in a breath. 

“Ushiwaka.”

Ushijima flicks his golden gaze at him in acknowledgment but returns it to the task at hand. He watches the water fill his plastic bottle to the appropriate line before shutting the flow off. He screws the top on. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Iwaizumi begins. Ushijima nods at the work gloves hanging by him, and Iwaizumi hands them over without missing a beat, “Kageyama is a good kid.”

Ushijima nods, again, “He is,” he agrees, walking away toward the balcony. Iwaizumi follows him, not bothering to slide the door shut. He leans against the railing, watching Ushijima check each of his personal plants meticulously. Feeling their leaves, taking in their scent, offering them a drink here and there. 

“He’s having a hard time at his orphanage. He doesn’t get along with the other kids and gets into a lot of fights. He keeps getting suspended from school and, well, he’s just, not doing well.”

Ushijima frowns.

“So, I was thinking, well, you know, we have a big apartment.”

Ushijima nods. 

“We have three bedrooms, but honestly we only ever use one.”

Ushijima straightens up, narrowing his eyes at him, “Iwaizumi, are you implying we should adopt Kageyama?”

“No! Not, adopt,” Iwaizumi corrects, quickly, his green eyes unable to look into the piercing golden gaze above him, “That’s, that’s permanent. I meant something more temporary. Like, like fostering him.”

Ushijima is still frowning, his finger a bit more jerky on the spray bottles trigger. He says nothing, going through his plants before stepping back into the living room. Iwaizumi lets out a sigh, “Ushijima, you could at least say something.”

Ushijima’s look is severe, “Iwaizumi, I do not know what you wish for me to say. You have put me in a difficult situation.”

Iwaizumi swallows, “I just--“

“Why are you only consulting me? Why is Oikawa not a part of this conversation?” Ushijima continues, bluntly as ever, tearing through Iwaizumi’s walls as if they were made of butter, “This is not right.”

“Of course I was going to ask him too! I just, well, we already know what his answers going to be.” Iwaizumi snaps. 

“Then what is the point of consulting with me?” Ushijima shakes his head, adding, “You do not know his answer unless you ask.”

“Ask me what?” Oikawa asks, shoving his phone into his pocket. Frustration lines his forehead before he smooths it out with a fake smile. Another difficult phone conversation just finished and tucked away deep inside. 

_This is terrible timing_ , Iwaizumi thinks.

“Iwaizumi wants to become foster parents for Kageyama,” Ushijima bulldozes right through, regardless. 

Iwaizumi wants to scream. 

Oikawa looks like he wants to do the very same thing. Eyes widening, mouth quivering with indecision--to shout or to grimace or to grit, who knows--and eyebrows furrowing down, “What?” and then, after a second,“ _Who_?”

Iwaizumi swallows, floundering to set the situation right before it dissolves into the irreparable fight it is most destined to be, “There’s this kid, he’s, he’s an orphan and he needs help. We can help him.”

“Kageyama has been helping me in the shop the past few weeks,” Ushijima supplies context.

Oikawa stares at them, “And when was I going to be informed about all this? About _any_ of this?”

Iwaizumi starts, “Oikawa, look, it’s--“

“Don’t _Oikawa look_ me right now! Have you seriously been considering adopting some street urchin for weeks and haven’t thought to tell me about?” Oikawa cries out incredulously.

“Oikawa, it’s not--“

“Absolute not,” Oikawa snaps, stomping a foot down for good measure, “Absolutely not!”

“Oikawa, at least let me explain. It’s more complicated than you think, Kageyama needs--“

“I don’t care what he needs,” Oikawa seethes, hand coming up to ruffle his own hair, “I can’t believe this!”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi growls, getting more annoyed by the second, with each and every interruption, “Let’s just talk about this, please?”

Oikawa is shaking his hand, eyes blown out in shocked anger, “The answer is no, Hajime! No! Never!” 

“Tooru, you’re being hysterical!” Iwaizumi shouts back.

Oikawa’s face scrunches up almost inhumanely, and he all but shrieks, point an accusing finger, “No, Hajime! You just don’t get it! _Kids ruin everything!_ ” 

Something flits across Ushijima’s face, a sudden understanding, and his hand is reaching out. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Iwaizumi seethes, unconvinced. 

But it’s too late. Oikawa lets out a frustrated half growl, the gift of gab lost to him when he is this furious, this _hurt_. He stomps back into his room and slams the door shut. 

Iwaizumi rubs his face in his own frustration. Talking to Oikawa lately was like walking on eggshells he didn’t even know were there. Like Oikawa had scribbled over the map of his personality that Iwaizumi had spent years memorizing, with bright red marker rendering it now utterly useless. 

Ushijima’s sigh makes him lift his head. Golden eyes remain grounded on the close doorframe, “I wish to aid Kageyama too,” he says, quietly, “but Oikawa is right,” he continues voice a bit distant as he ventures towards the door and knocks on it softly. After a moment, Iwaizumi watches Oikawa let him in. 

Iwaizumi is alone. 

And he doesn’t think Oikawa is right at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and theres chapter 2
> 
> this story is difficult to write because there's so much stuff happening under the surface with everyone, so im doing my best to keep them IC.
> 
> im gonna try to keep updating this within reasonable time windows but working full time and applying to grad school is killing me so LOL
> 
> anyways! ur reviews keep me going! let me know what ya think
> 
> see you next time


	3. Nausea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa can’t imagine Iwaizumi getting married, because it would mean less time together. It would mean sharing Iwaizumi, and Oikawa has never been good at sharing. Unless they got married to each other. But Iwaizumi wants kids, and Oikawa isn’t a mom and he may not know all the specifics but he’s pretty sure babies only come from moms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: references to child abuse coming up

“Oikawa-san, are you alright?”

Oikawa lifts his head up from the desk, blinking up at his assistant. He straightens, up, running a hand through his carefully crafted hair. He offers a mischievous smile, a wink and a finger pressed to his lips.

Yahaba frowns, “Oikawa-san, are you sleeping ok?”

Oikawa lets out a sigh, “It’s so cute that you worry about me, Yahaba.” Oikawa stretches out his hand to crack his elbow, fingers dancing in the air towards the manila folder Yahaba has in his arms, clearly meant for him. Yahaba offers his own sigh and little frown, obediently handing the folder over.

“I’m making coffee,” he adds, “Do you want some?”

“Yes, please!” Oikawa sings, flipping the folder open. He scans the first introductory page of a new civil case. Another divorce filing. Accusations of domestic violence and verbal abuse. Questions about the kids. Of course there were kids. There were _always_ kids.

_Little devils_ , Oikawa thinks.

He looks up when Yahaba sits down beside him, offering a steaming cup of black coffee. Oikawa raises an eyebrow, and Yahaba slides over the entire basket of cream and sugar packets. Oikawa grins at him appreciatively, hurrying to smother the bitterness of his drink as fast as possible.

“So I’m guessing you’re not sleeping because you’re fighting with Iwaizumi-san?” Yahaba asks, pointedly, stirring his cup almost daintily. A ploy, clearly.

Oikawa frowns at him, “What makes you say that?”

“I asked Iwaizumi-san about your mood yesterday and he didn’t want to talk about it. Which means he must be involved.”

“ _Or_ ,” Oikawa points out, “Iwa-chan’s a loyal partner who doesn’t air my business to nosy coworkers.”

Yahaba is unimpressed, “Iwaizumi-san looks terrible himself. Should I visit the flower shop to see if Ushijima-san is also hanging by a thread?”

“You know, your keen eye used to be cute when it was only about cases,” Oikawa grumbles.

Yahaba smiles at him, wide and fake, “I learned from the best, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, pursing his lips out before taking a sip of his coffee, “I’m waiting for an apology.”

“Does Iwaizumi-san know that?”

Oikawa grimaces.

* * *

Oikawa remembers the first time he ever felt inadequate.

It’s Iwaizumi’s eighth birthday. They’re outside in his backyard, their entire class crowding around the cake. Oikawa sits in the seat of honor beside the birthday boy, watching Iwaizumi think long and hard about his wish.

Oikawa sits up, miming as if to blow out the candles himself. Iwaizumi squawks, shoving him back, with a shout of, “Stop it, Tooru!”

Oikawa snickers and finally Iwaizumi blows his candles out and the party cheers. Iwaizumi’s father cuts the cake, making sure Oikawa gets the second slice, one with a big heaping of frosting. Oikawa’s mother snaps a picture of him and Iwaizumi with their cakes and it’s one of the rare ones where Iwaizumi is grinning. Oikawa still has the picture framed in his room.

Later that night, once all the guests have left, except for Oikawa, who had begged his parents to let him sleepover, Oikawa asks Iwaizumi what he wished for.

“If I tell you it won’t come true,” Iwaizumi points out. He’s sitting on his floor, a thick book laying out in front of him. It was the gift Oikawa had gotten him: an encyclopedia of native bugs found in Japan. Iwaizumi had not put it down since receiving it.

“But best friends tell each other everything,” Oikawa replies, “I _always_ tell you my wishes.”

Iwaizumi snorts, flipping a page over, “That’s just because you never stop talking.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out, “Iwa-chan’s a meanie! Fine, I’ll never talk to you again.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “You already gave me a birthday present, I don’t need another one.”

Oikawa glares at him, but remains silent. Iwaizumi laughs. Oikawa looks away. Iwaizumi returns to his book.

Two whole minutes pass.

Iwaizumi turns the page.

Oikawa shifts slightly, so he can see Iwaizumi better in his peripheral. He’s still reading, seemingly unbothered. Oikawa squeezes his fingers into his palms and sniffles.

Iwaizumi looks up at the noise, betraying his hyper alertness, “Are you crying?”

Oikawa stays silent, glaring at the wall.

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks, tilting his head and coming closer, “Why are you crying?”

Oikawa makes a haughty puff of air, and the illusion is shattered. Iwaizumi stares at him, “Are you crying because I won’t tell you my wish? That’s so stupid.”

“You’re stupid!” Oikawa shouts back.

Iwaizumi laughs, “Wow, I thought you weren’t supposed to talk to me anymore.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whimpers, “Why are you so mean to me?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but the book is finally forgotten as he tackles Oikawa to the ground to tickle him. Oikawa lets out a bark of a laugh, whining as he tries to retaliate, and the two end up rolling around the floor cackling to each other. Iwaizumi’s mother stops them eventually, complaining of how late it is and forces them to bed.

Once she’s turned the light off and given each of them a goodnight kiss, Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa, green eyes bright in the darkness, “I wished for a little brother.”

Oikawa blinks, turning to face him as well so that they both lay on their sides, “Why?”

“I really want one,” Iwaizumi whispers.

“I hate my sister,” Oikawa sighs, “Why would you want to share stuff with someone else? Also then you’d have to deal with a gross baby!”

“Babies aren’t gross,” Iwaizumi says, “Your sister’s cool. She’s in high school.”

“Babies _are_ gross. All they do is poop and scream, Iwa-chan.”

“You do that too.”

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi laughs, rolling back onto his back to stare at his ceiling, “I mean, don’t you want to be a Dad when you’re a grown up?”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out in disgust, “Gross, no.”

Iwaizumi frowns a little, “Well, I want to. I think it would be cool. To be a dad and get married and have a kid and stuff.”

“Iwa-chan will never find a wife because of his ugly frown,” Oikawa points out. Iwaizumi slaps him, and Oikawa whines and the conversation ends. Iwaizumi falls asleep soon after, muttering about _stupidkawa_ under his breath.

Oikawa stays up most of the night, a new emotion he cant quite name swirling in his stomach and making him nauseous. He stares up at the ceiling, focusing all his energy on keeping his breathing steady. His stomach curdles and his legs twist about under the sheets restlessly, but slow enough as not to disturb his bed neighbor. He spends the night picking at the blanket covering him and watching Iwaizumi breathe in his sleep.

He thinks about having children, and being a grown up and getting _married_.

Oikawa can’t imagine Iwaizumi getting married, because it would mean less time together. It would mean _sharing_ Iwaizumi, and Oikawa has never been good at sharing. Unless they got married to each other. But Iwaizumi wants kids, and Oikawa isn’t a mom and he may not know all the specifics but he’s pretty sure babies only come from moms.

He swallows, fingers digging into his palms hard enough to hurt.

_Kids are stupid_ , he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut.

* * *

Yahaba convinces Oikawa to sleep in the next day and come to work in the afternoon. Oikawa is actually able to sleep, luckily, and he awakens feeling better than he has in weeks. He steps out of his room into the warm late morning sunlight to find an empty apartment.

He checks the two neighboring bedrooms just to be sure. Ushijima’s is directly across from him, sparsely decorated and barely lived in. The walls are blank. The full bed, covered in dull blue and black plaid sheets, sits in the middle of the room against the far wall witha plain dresser beside it.

He pulls his head back to peer next door, into Iwaizumi’s bedroom. Old movie posters adorn some of the wall space, and the full bed is neatly made with a deep forest green comforter that Oikawa had specifically bought to bring out Iwaizumi’s eyes. He steps into this room, fingers dancing along Iwaizumi’s large dresser. They trace along the photo frames littered upon it, most of them gifts from Oikawa himself.

Pictures of him and Iwaizumi from summer, pictures of him and Iwaizumi from their high school volleyball team, pictures of him, Iwaizumi and Ushijima from university, memories upon memories upon memories. Oikawa smiles. He sits down on the bed, letting out a soft sigh. His hand smooths out the comforter, sliding down until it can take hold of the raggedy Godzilla plushie. He shoves his face into it, squeezing it tightly to his chest.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets go.

He misses him.

When he enters the kitchen he finds a plate with eggs and toast left on the table for him, and he can’t help the soft smile that colors his features at the sight. He had been purposely eating away from home, ignoring Ushijima’s concerns and ignoring Iwaizumi completely. It’s nice to be remembered and loved despite his childishly petty actions.

He misses them.

He decides, then, as he bites into the toast, that he’ll end the fight himself. Iwaizumi’s fascination with children is something he’s known for forever, something he fully understood when he’d agreed to this relationship. He is still bitter about being excluded, but he can understand Iwaizumi’s reluctance. He had never really hidden his own disgust. He shouldn’t have blown up at him like he had.

_It’s the stress_ , Oikawa thinks to himself, _once this whole thing blows over it won’t feel like I’m walking on the edge of a mental breakdown all the time._

He finishes his solitary breakfast, sets up the dishwasher and then pads back to his room to get ready for the day. He still has time before he needs to head to the office, so he climbs down the steps to the flower shop, hoping Ushijima will entertain him for a bit.

He finds a boy sitting at the counter instead.

Not just a boy, _the_ boy.

Oikawa fights back a grimace, quickly looking away to search for Ushijima. But the boy has noticed him, and his blue eyes are boring holes into the back of his head. Oikawa takes in a breath before turning to him, teeth gritted behind his closed lip smile.

“You know, it’s rude to stare at adults like that,” he says.

The boy startles, face reddening as he quickly ducks his head back down. Oikawa raises an eyebrow, smile slipping off his face, “It’s also rude to ignore them when they’re speaking toyou.”

The boy looks like his head might explode, but he barks out a quick response, “Sorry, Trashykawa-san.”

Oikawa stares at the boy.

He. Hates. Children.

“ _Excuse_ me?” he hisses, taking a step forward.

The boy stares at him wide eyed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of his long sleeves, “That-That’s what Iwaizumi-san called you?”

Oikawa narrows his eyes, “My name is Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru.” The boy nods, quickly. Oikawa’s stare bores into him, narrowed and almost predatory, “And your name?”

“Kageyama,” the boy murmurs.

Oikawa leans in further, menacingly, “Your _full_ name?”

Kageyama swallows, “Kageyama Tobio.”

“Well, Tobio-chan, it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” Oikawa says, words dripping malice in his overtly sweet tone. Kageyama looks confused, eyebrows furrowed, face contorted, as if he cant parse through the layers in his phrasing.

Oikawa doesn’t bother alleviating him of his troubles, turning away with a petulant huff to try to find Ushijima. He spots him near the back, organizing his tools. He comes over, sliding a hand along his back, before resting it on his hip.

Ushijima turns to him, blinking his golden eyes, “Hello, Oikawa.”

Oikawa snorts, pecking him chastely, “Hello, Ushiwaka.”

“Are you going to work now?”

“I am.”

“Have a good day,” he nods, and then turns back to the task on hand.

Oikawa squeezes the other man’s bicep, getting his attention again, “I met your new employee properly, finally.”

Ushijima blinks at him, nodding once more.

“I don’t see why the both of you are so smitten with that brat,” Oikawa can’t help but sneer.

Ushijima frowns, “He is not a brat.”

Oikawa sighs, “Whatever, I’m off.”

“Have a good day, Oikawa,” Ushijima says again.

Oikawa leaves the shop, but he can’t help glancing back at Kageyama as he leaves, still sitting at the counter, on guard and attentive. 

Kageyama stares at him the whole way through.

It makes his stomach curdle with nausea.

* * *

“Fascinating,” Oikawa says, his phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder. His right hand picks at some dirt underneath his left middle fingernail.

“Tooru, are you even listening to me?” his sister’s voice huffs through the line. He hums. She’s not impressed, “This is serious!”

“It’s an ugly cat statue,” Oikawa bites back, taking the phone in his hand to straighten himself up.

“It’s _mom’s_ _precious_ ugly cat statue, smart-ass,” Fumiko snaps back, “And she’s furious. Have you talked to him yet?”

“I called yesterday and he didn’t pick up. Why don’t _you_ call him? If it’s so important? I’m really busy too you know.”

“You don’t have to deal with mom every day. You think I’m not busy? Takeru’s got his college entrance exams coming up. You can at least do this for me, since you’re not here to help.”

Oikawa bites at his middle finger nail, trying to get the pesky fleck of dirt out and only managing to bite down his nail. So be it. He works on evening out the rest of his fingers while he’s at it, “Nee-chan, I’m doing my best.”

There’s a long sigh, “Just get him on the phone alright? Mom really wants her figurine back.”

“I’ll call him again, I promise,” Oikawa acquiesces, he flicks his gaze at his watch, “I have to go, Nee-chan, my lunch breaks almost up.”

“Alright, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies back before pocketing the phone away. He takes a moment, standing outside his office building, to breathe. He lets his fingers run through his hair, once, twice, and then he sinks his grasp into the brown tendrils and lets out a muffled growl through gritted teeth. He stomps his foot once and then breathes it all out. With that he straightens up, letting his troubles roll right off his shoulders before he walks back into his office.

He rides the elevator up to the fourth floor. He does not want to call his father. He does not want his call to be misconstrued as an accusation, because he doubts the man has taken his mother’s cat figurine, which, mind you, had been collecting dust unnoticed for the entirety of his life until this week. He leans against the elevator wall, frustration rising within him every level he goes up the building despite his best efforts.

By the time he reaches the fourth floor he is seething, enough that Yahaba steers clear of him entirely. Rage pushes him to be productive, reading through piles and piles of papers, taking down efficient notes in a storm of activity.

He doesn’t realize the time until Yahaba’s hand on his shoulder startles him back to reality. His assistant smiles at him, “It’s late, Oikawa. You should go home.”

Oikawa blinks, mulls over staying another half hour but decides to accept the offer. He’s tired.

He’s tired of everything lately.

By the time he gets home Iwaizumi has finished making dinner, and Ushijima has set the table. They both blink at the sight of him, but offer their usual greetings. Still, Oikawa can feel the tension in the air. He’s not surprised, he hadn’t had dinner with his boyfriends in a few days now.

He slips into his bedroom to change out of his work clothes, putting on his flannel pajama pants, and an old sweatshirt he’d stolen from Iwaizumi long ago. When he returns to the kitchen his boyfriends watch him quietly from their places by their food, alert, wary. Oikawa takes his seat, lifting up his pair of chopsticks and digging in. The other men soon follow, sharing a glance that Oikawa catches.

He smiles behind his chopsticks, the anger of today leaving him finally now that he’s home, being fed, and in the best company in the world. Time to end this stupid petty fight he decides. He misses cuddlying, and he’s punished Iwaizumi enough. He looks up, flicking his gaze between the two, “Let’s all watch a movie tonight.”

Iwaizumi’s head lifts up immediately, green eyes wide, “A movie?”

Oikawa hums, looking back down at his bowl, “I was thinking of Jurassic Park.”

Iwaizumi’s reaction is immediate as he stands up, chair screeching back, “I’ll go set it up!”

Oikawa laughs, holding out a hand to stop him, “Iwa-chan don’t be silly! We need to finish dinner first.”

Iwaizumi reddens a little as he sits himself back down. Even Ushijima looks amused at the whole display, quirked lips hiding behind his lifted bowl yet still shining through his glimmering golden eyes. Iwaizumi can feel it burning him so he ducks his head low, scarfing his food down as fast as possible. So they can start his favorite movie, and he can sit beside Oikawa and things can be fine again.

Oikawa watches it all knowingly, not even bothering to hide his admiring gaze, because he knows Iwaizumi is too caught up in his excitement to notice.

Oikawa loves him.

He loves him so much.

Ushijima and Oikawa finish their meal in peace while Iwaizumi battles with their DVD player. Ushijima leaves to make popcorn. Oikawa sits himself down in the middle of the couch, legs curling up underneath himself. Iwaizumi grabs the blanket and sits down beside him, throwing the blanket over them. Oikawa leans onto his shoulder.

Iwaizumi pulls back a moment, turning his face to him. Oikawa can see the conflict battling within his eyes and so he waits for it, “I’m sorry Tooru, for, for blowing up like that and going behind your back.”

Oikawa sighs, lifting a hand up to trace Iwaizumi’s strong jaw, “It was a jerky thing to do Iwa-chan,” Oikawa agrees, “but I suppose I can forgive you.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but his own hand comes up to cover the one on his cheek, taking it delicately in his soft grip to kiss it. Oikawa lets out a little giggle, leaning in closer. Iwaizumi smiles as he peppers his hand with small kisses, teeth peeking out as his grin widens. He pulls back to gaze at Oikawa, “You know you mean the world to me, right?”

Oikawa feels his heart swell, leaning forward to kiss his boyfriend, “Just the world?”

“And the moon and stars,” Iwaizumi adds easily, kissing him again.

Oikawa giggles against him, nuzzling into his cheek, “If only my Iwa-chan was this sweet all the time.”

“You’d rot,” Iwaizumi replies.

Oikawa laughs, pulling back completely, eyes half hooded, “Will Iwa-chan keep spoiling me tonight?”

“Does Iwaizumi ever not spoil you?” Ushijima asks, standing before them.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa shuffle to the side, pressing close against each other to make room on the couch for Ushijima. Oikawa quickly grabs at the popcorn, holding it close to snack on it. Iwaizumi grabs the remote from the coffee table to press play. He leans back, throwing an arm behind Oikawa to hang on the back of the sofa. Ushijima mirrors him, fingers entangling, and Oikawa leans back into it. He smiles to himself as the movie begins, comfortable in his favorite spot, between his two favorite boys.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa become completely engrossed in the film despite having seen it numerous time. Ushijima falls asleep _because_ he’s been forced to see it multiple times, ending up slumped half on Oikawa’s body.

“It’s a crime he’s this cute,” Oikawa laments, petting at the short coarse hair of his tallest partner, fingers itching to trace along his furrow browed.

Iwaizumi shushes him, “It’s the raptor part.”

When the movie finally finishes they wake Ushijima up, neither of them capable of picking up the behemoth. Iwaizumi leads the sleepy man down the hall to Oikawa’s bedroom while Oikawa tidies up the living room. He turns off the TV, throws away the popcorn bag and refolds the blanket. Once he’s deemed it acceptable enough that Iwaizumi won’t complain to him in the morning he makes his way to his bedroom.

Iwaizumi waits for him by the door, kissing him a touch apologetic, “Can we spoil you tomorrow night?” he asks, eyes flicking back to the sleeping log of a man in the middle of their bed.

Oikawa snickers into his hand, “I guess all good things come to those who wait.”

Iwaizumi nuzzles into him despite this, burrowing himself into the crook of Oikawa’s neck until the taller man hugs him close, holding him tight. Drowsiness always brought out the cute side of Iwaizumi, the side that itched to hold hands and cuddle close, that buried his face in their chests, that squeezed them as tight as he could, and didn’t mind being a few inches shorter, so he could slot himself under their chins perfectly. It’s the side Iwaizumi always denies having.

Oikawa loves him.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Oikawa whispers into Iwaizumi’s hair. _It’s getting long_ , he thinks, _he needs a haircut._

“We fight all the time,” Iwaizumi’s muffled voice replies back.

“You know what I mean,” Oikawa huffs.

Iwaizumi sighs, lifting his head up, “I know,” he looks back over at Ushijima’s sleeping form, curled on his side in the middle of the bed, “I’m tired, Tooru. We can talk tomorrow. Let’s just sleep for now.”

Oikawa doesn’t argue for once.

* * *

They don’t have a talk the next day, or the day after that, but friendly conversation blossom, intimate moments play in the night and life returns to normal. Or almost normal. Oikawa is still deluded with stressful calls from his family. His father still won’t respond to him. His sister still begs for his help. But Oikawa is getting better at keeping it to himself, locked away from earshot, so it does not fester into any more fights.

Iwaizumi seems to have dropped the fostering idea, much to Oikawa’s relief, but the boy still haunts the store front, and Oikawa has the misfortune of bumping into him on occasion.

Today is one such occasion.

He steps into the flower shop during his lunch break, stretching his arm up with a yawn. Iwaizumi bumps into him on his way out, “Why are you taking your lunch break so late?”

“Some of us have to work hard for their ungrateful house husbands,” Oikawa replies easily.

Iwaizumi flicks his shoulder, “Well, your ungrateful house husband left you a nice lunch upstairs so maybe you should rethink your perception on life.”

“Iwa-chan! Did you really?” Oikawa practically squeals with excitement, “Homemade bento? For me?”

Iwaizumi snorts, responding only with a dismissive wave as he heads out of the store entirely. Oikawa watches him go with a bright smile. Things were definitely getting better. He turns back toward the store. It’s a bit crowded, two customers swarming around Ushijima in one corner listing their specifications for a bouquet and a few more loitering about the aisles. Oikawa tries to wave towards his partner but gives up, the tall man too engrossed in his work to really see anything else. He’ll greet him on his way back down.

He makes his way towards the back of the store to head up the stairs to his apartment, but halfway there his eyes catch on the brat. Kageyama is reaching for a potted plant on one of the higher shelves. His lanky legs strain on his tiptoes, fingertips gripping at the sides of the vase as he eases it out inch by inch. His face is screwed up in concentration, but it looks like he’s struggling. Oikawa thinks of just continuing up the stairs, but his good heart takes hold of him, and with a dramatic sigh, he pads his way over to the child.

“Tobio-chan,” he sings, startling the boy to stop and look over, “What are you doing?”

Kageyama’s face reddens slightly, and he aims his words at the ground as he speaks, “Getting a plant for Ushijima-san.”

“Is that it?” Oikawa muses, letting a finger tap his chin theatrically,“It looked like you were trying to stretch. It’s a bit too high for you isn’t it?”

“I can get it,” Kageyama mumbles to the floor.

“I don’t think you can,” Oikawa replies quickly, and with a flourishing hand motion he adds, “If you’ll allow me,I can--“

“I can get it!” Kageyama glowers loudly, hands shooting up to reach for the plant.

“Tobio-chan, don’t be stupid, I can just-“

“I can get it!” Kageyama shouts, and he hops this time as he reaches for it, managing to knock it straight off the shelf. The heavy plant careens downward,and Oikawa lunges his hand forward to grasp the back of Kageyama’s dark hoodie, wrenching him backwards and out of harms way.

The pot shatters at their feet, shards clattering around and dirt spraying all over the both of them. Kageyama lets out a surprised scream while Oikawa lets out an annoyed growl, his work clothes now filthy.

Ushijima rushes toward them, eyes wide with worried and mouth pressed into a thin line, “Are you alright?” he asks.

Oikawa levels him an annoyed look about to respond when a chocked up sob reverberates below him. He looks down at Kageyama’s trembling form, fingers pulling at his sleeves as he fight back the the tears threatening to spill, “I’m sorry,” he pleads, “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright,” Ushijima says easily, “I am not angry. Are you alright?”

Kageyama nods furiously, more apologies tumbling from his lips. His face is blotchy and wet, snot dripping from his nose and Oikawa is disgusted. But then Ushijima is looking at him, golden eyes piercing with a request, “Oikawa can you clean him up?”

“What?”

“I need to clean the aisle and sweep up the ceramic shards before anyone is harmed. You’re both covered in dirt. Could you take Kageyama up and take care of him?”

Oikawa can’t help the pained sneer that flits across his face, but Ushijima’s gaze makes him falter and he agrees reluctantly with a loud sigh. Kageyama has little opportunity to react as Oikawa grabs his arm and starts dragging him up the stairs.

Oikawa releases him momentarily to unlock their door, stepping into there entry way. He slips off his muddy shoes with a disgusted crinkle of his nose, tearing off his equally dirty socks and balling them up in his fist. Kageyama stands dumbly beside him, frozen.

“Well?” Oikawa snaps, patience worn completely thin, “Do you plan on tracking dirt all over my home or are you going to take your shoes off?”

Kageyama scrambles, falling down in his hurry to take his shoes off. He still manages to get dirt in the hallway from his flurry of movements. Oikawa grabs him before he ventures inside, “Socks off too! They’re filthy!”

Kageyama hesitates but then pulls them off, leaving them by his shoes. Oikawa makes a mental note to retrieve them before he washes their clothes. “Now listen up, Tobio-chan, because I am _not_ going to repeat myself,” he says, steering the child toward the kitch so he can grab a papertowel. He starts wiping at the boys wet snotty face roughly, ignoring the kid’s squirming hands trying weakly to push him away, “Stop moving. You can take a quick shower in the bathroom and in the meantime I’m going to wash your shirt and pants, alright? So once you change pass me your clothes through the door, got it?”

Kageyama nods, fingers playing with the ends of his sleeves once he gives up his struggle. Oikawa sighs and leads the boy to their bathroom, “You can bathe yourself right?”

“I can!” Kageyama snaps, frowning at him severely. Oikawa snorts, but shows him how to turn the water on.

Oikawa waits outside the bathroom until Kageyama hands him his clothes through the crack of the door. Oikawa hands him back his underwear, there’s no dirt on the article of clothing and they definitely don’t have any the boy’s size he can borrow. Oikawa leaves his post to enter the laundry room, stripping out of his dirty pants (luckily the only thing tarnished in the incident) and starts up the machine. He pads over to his room to put on some old gym shorts in the interim. He looks terribly silly in his dress shirt and shorts, but no one who matters will be seeing him anyway.

Kageyama comes out of the bathroom clutching his borrowed towel, glaring at the ground. Oikawa lends him one of Iwaizumi’s shirts which ends up being more of a dress on him with an off the shoulder kind of look. He also offers him the smallest pair of shorts he can find.

And it is at this point that Oikawa is at a loss of what to do, trapped with the child until the washer and dryer dings. The boy stands there awkwardly, dark toes curling at the floor, fingers digging into the hem of his long shirt. Oikawa’s eyes linger a moment, something tickling the back of his head. Something not _right_. 

His own stomach distracts him, reminding him of the hour and he turns away grumbling. His mood shifts though at the sight of the cute bento box on the kitchen counter. His heart leaps into his throat. It had been _months_ since Iwaizumi had made him a lunch this cutesy, a staple he had gotten so used to in college.

It’s a nice memory, his freshman year of college, as they sit in the quad outside sharing a lunch. “You know Iwa-chan,” Oikawa had lamented, “it sucks that we’re dating now.”

Iwaizumi had punched him, “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Oikawa had snickered, massaging the spot on his shoulder, “I miss all the cute lunches my fangirls used to make me! My instagram popularity is gonna plummet now. And it’s all your fault.”

Iwaizumi had only rolled his eyes, “You’re an ass.”

But a week or so later Iwaizumi had presented him with an attempt at a cute bento, a bit messy, but the flips it made Oikawa’s heart do were incomparable. He remembers almost dropping the bento in his excitement to pull Iwaizumi toward him, peppering his face with grateful kisses and giggling squeals. 

Iwaizumi tried to cover his pleased blush with his anger but nothing could fool Oikawa when it comes to Iwaizumi. 

He smiles into the bento now, marveling at Iwaizumi’s skill. Inside the little box sits a fox made of brown and white rice, a cute little sleeping face painted on by seaweed pieces. Two halves of an egg sit beside it, decorated like a pair of little squawking birds. Oikawa quickly takes his phone out to take a picture, sending it to his group chat with his boyfriends, captioned “Iwa-chan DOES love me!” 

He sends the same image to Yahaba as well, captioning it only with a smug little peace sign emoji. He adds the kissy face emoji too for good measure. 

He startles when he looks up to find Kageyama has ventured up to him, trying on his tiptoes to see what Oikawa is marveling at. Oikawa isn’t proud of the fact he snatches the meal up close to his face, and starts shoveling it into his face. But it happens. And it’s purely instincts.

Kageyama stares up at him, wide eyed, as Oikawa scarfs down his lunch. Oikawa swallows, trying to act nonchalant, “What? Didn’t you already eat?”

“I did,” Kageyama mutters, and he glares at the floor, fidgeting again. Oikawa realizes, as he slows down on his feast that he needs to find something to occupy this kids time while the washer and dryer do their magic or else _he’s_ going to be stuck entertaining him. 

“Go watch TV,” Oikawa half orders, hand coming down to nudge the boy to the living room. Kageyama obeys, trudging to the couch and sitting down. He puts his feet up on the ottoman, shoulders shrugging inward as he sinks into the back of the couch.  Oikawa lets out a huff when the boy stares at him, coming over and bending toward the coffee table for the remote. He flips through the channels, stopping on something colorful and animated. 

He puts the remote back down on the coffee table. 

And then he stops. 

And his eyes widen, arm shooting out. Kageyama realizes at the same time he does, reflexively pulling his legs back to tuck underneath himself. But Oikawa is faster, hand gripping tightly around Kageyama’s left ankle.

Kageyama kicks at him, “Let go!” he screeches, jerking around. 

Oikawa keeps his grip, pulling up his other hand to shield himself from the desperate flailing, “Stop moving!” he shouts back, “Let me see!”

“No!” Kageyama screams, writhing on the coach and kicking wildly, furiously, “No!”

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Oikawa growls, tightening his grip on the boy’s ankle, “If you don’t stop moving I’ll have Ushiwaka ban you from the flower shop!”

Kageyama stills, eyes large and teary as he hiccups. Oikawa has no time for that, tugging the foot closer to his face. “Stop it,” Kageyama begs, voice wavering and pitiful. Oikawa feels nothing. 

Nothing but hot blooded anger. 

“Who did this?” he asks, and his fury bleeds into his tone, “Tobio, who did this?”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything, trying to twist his body away, curling it toward the back of the couch. But Oikawa is persistent, “Who did this?!”

“It’s cause I was bad,” Kageyama’s words are muffled by the cushion he presses his face in, face flush with humiliation, “Stop!” he pleads one last time, giving another jerk of his leg.

Oikawa releases the imprisoned foot, hand instead curling into himself. He grits his teeth, sitting down on the couch beside the curled up boy, _boy_. Eleven! was what Iwaizumi said if he remembers right. His stomach feels sick, curdling in on itself with disgust. But there’s no denying it, he’d seen the same scars in all sorts of cases at work. Never in person.

“Tobio,” Oikawa says, and he breathes the words out, forcing himself to regain some composure. He takes a second to even out his heaving, closing his eyes slowly and opening them again, “Who did that to you?”

“I’m ok,” Kageyama mutters instead, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Tobio,” Oikawa repeats, and repeats again and again, “ _Who_ did this to you?”

Kageyama curls up tighter, discolored feet toeing into the cracks of the cushions, as if trying to make them just disappear, and finally he says it, quiet and mostly directed the fabric of the sofa, “Mom.”

Oikawa nods, slowly, eyes staring at the TV shouting out colorful nonsense. He knows Kageyama’s an orphan, so his mother must have either passed away or he was taken away from her--for good reasons. He’s not sure which is the answer, and he doesn’t think asking Kageyama at this point is a good idea. 

“Tobio,” Oikawa says again, and the boy refuses to budge, “Tobio, look at me. Tobio, sit up and look at me.”

Finally, Kageyama’s blue eyes shift toward him, guarded and squinted, blotchy red still painted along his cheeks. Oikawa looks at him sternly, “If anyone ever tries to hurt you like that again, you must tell me or Iwaizumi-san or Ushijima-san, do you understand me?”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything. 

Oikawa grits his teeth behind his closed lips, “Tob--”

The washer dings, and Oikawa lets out an annoyed huff, giving Kageyama one last look before he gets up. He puts the washed clothing into the dryer, closing it with a rougher slam than necessary. He leans against the machine, trying to think, to formulate some sort of plan of attack. He musses through his hair. 

He isn’t built for this. 

He lets out a sigh through his nose and straightens up. He moves back toward the living room, a new conversation tactic ready at his lips. He freezes though, as the doorknob shifts, instinctively crossing the distance to stand between it and Kageyama still curled up on the couch. 

Ushijima enters and Oikawa’s shoulders relax. 

“Oikawa, thank you for taking care of him,” Ushijima hurries, slipping his shoes off quickly, “The mess downstairs has been cleaned and I have temporarily closed the store so I can be here with him instead.”

“Ushi-”

“You should return to work, your lunch break ended a while ago did it not? I do not want you to get in trouble because of me,” Ushijima continues in one more frazzled breath.

Oikawa looks at his watch cursing to himself, “Shit, fine, one, uh, one second,” he scurries into his bedroom, digging for another pair of professional pants that would match his shirt. He comes back out, Ushijima sitting on the ottoman, not talking, just there near Kageyama, who has kept his face smushed into the back of the couch. Oikawa bites his lip, a frustrated noise threatening to break through but he holds it in, “His clothes are in the dryer. We need to talk later. I’ll send a text, I have to go.”

Ushijima nods, “I will see you later.”

Oikawa gives a brisk nod as he rushes down the steps and out the door. He pulls his phone from his pocket as he goes, ignoring Iwaizumi’s grumbling texts as he opens up the app to their groupchat.

He types quickly, 

_Ushiwaka, don’t let the kid out of your sight._

_Iwa-chan, I’m coming to the station right now._

He locks his phone and shoves it back in his pocket, checks both directions and hurries across the street. 

_What an absolute_ disaster _of a day,_ he thinks to himself.

* * *

“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks as he lets Oikawa into one of the spare offices at the police station, worry knitting his brow, “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

Oikawa glares at him, “Iwa-chan, you always have to stick your nose into the worst of business, you know that?”

Iwaizumi stares at him blankly, “What?”

“You’re always making so much more work for me. Your good samaritan bones are the devil,” Oikawa continues, collapsing into the offered chair. 

Iwaizumi stands across from him, squinting, “Are you messing with me right now?”

“He’s been abused, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, looking off to the side, body folder over to rest on the table, “I couldn’t get any pictures in the moment but we can get them if we need to.”

“What?” Iwaizumi repeats, but something catches in his throat as he speaks. .

“Immersion burns,” Oikawa continues, fingers fidgeting on the tabletop by drawing mindless patterns, “There might be other things. I don’t know. They’re not fresh at least. Where’s Tobio’s mom?”

“She’s dead.” Iwaizumi responds stiff.

“Good,” Oikawa spits, “At least there’s that.”

Iwaizumi sits down, staring at the table top, hands splayed out over the smooth white surface, “Are you, are you _sure_?”

Oikawa smiles grimly, lifting his head to look his partner in the eye, “It took me a second to realize he wasn’t wearing brown socks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Iwaizumi hisses, rubbing his temples, “Immersion burns? Really?”

“I know.”

“He’s,” Iwaizumi grapples with it, “He’s just a little kid.”

“I know.”

“His _mother_?” Iwaizumi repeats, and the words rhotacized by the end of it so it almost sounds like a growl. 

Oikawa doesn’t want to think about it. “Iwa-chan, we need to know if the orphanage knows about this. And if they did if they filed everything they were supposed to,” Oikawa murmurs, carefully, “We need to be sure or we can't let him go back there.”

“Where is he right now?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Sitting on our couch with Ushiwaka,” Oikawa assures.

Iwaizumi nods, “Alright, I’ll go investigate as much as I can on my end.”

“I’ll check in with my contact at child protective services and fill out a report,” Oikawa sighs, tugging at his bangs. Iwaizumi shakes his head, not necessarily at what Oikawa is saying, but rather at the entire topic of conversation, hand pressing harder into his temple. It hurts Oikawa to see. 

Oikawa bites his lip as he gets up, fingers straining in his fists, biting into the skin of his palm even though he’d bitten them down, “If it isn’t, if it isn’t safe for him to go back there, he can stay with us, but, this, this doesn’t mean that he can, he can--”

“I know,” Iwaizumi murmurs. 

Oikawa grimaces, “I know it makes me an awful human being but I can’t--”

“No,” Iwaizumi interrupts again, hand reaching out toward him, “You’re not, you’re not an awful huma-.”

Oikawa pulls away from it, “I don’t, I, fuck, Hajime I’m not good withS kids I can’t just, I can’t--”

Iwaizumi is shaking his head, “I know, it’s ok, I get it.” 

“I’m not a good person,” Oikawa confesses, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes, his lashes fluttering to keep his emotions at bay, head tilted up toward the sky. 

“You are. Don’t say that,” Iwaizumi insists, standing up after him. 

Oikawa shakes his head, refusing to look at him. Instead, leaves the station all together without another word. Self-loathing coats his guts, twisting them into knots and he does his best to swallow down the bile. Swallow it down. Swallow it all down. 

No one needs to see any of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the patience! i'm gonna be a lot less busy once december hits so maybe i'll be able to update more often. no promises though
> 
> we're talking about heavy stuff in this story so bear with me ;;;
> 
> let me know what y'all think. your reviews have been very encouraging so far and i'm really grateful to them. 
> 
> please talk to me about ushiwaoi at my tumblr --> findingschmomo
> 
> until next time! <3


	4. Exclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are not doing it on purpose, Ushijima reminds himself, as Oikawa and Iwaizumi get caught up in the hurricane of each other.

Ushijima winces when he ties his apron on too tight in the back, fingers digging to loosen the strands. He lets out a sigh, retying the bow to a less suffocating knot. He straightens up, cracking his neck to the side. He walks down the steps of his empty apartment, flicking the lights on of his shop.

Stands of flowers and greenery greet his tired eyes, and he takes a moment to walk around the shop and take in his inventory. He feels at the leaves of his wares, tucking fingers into dirt, straightening a few pots and hanging vines. He makes his way to the back of the store, watering the nursery methodically.

He realizes, halfway through, that he had been silent the entire time, too consumed in his own thoughts to speak. He frowns, giving the flower an apologetic nod before commencing his quiet murmuring, encouraging them to grow strong and healthy.

Finally, he returns back to the front of his store. He flips the sign to open, taking a breath through his nose that fills his chest. A new day. He turns to his desk, pulling out the top drawer and digging out today’s orders. He starts assembling bouquets for pickup.

As he picks out the best flowers from each collection he finds his mind wandering elsewhere. He tries, vainly, to correct its course every now and then but finally just lets himself be taken with the flow.

They were doing it again.

Ushijima had spent over an hour sitting with Kageyama in their living room the night before, stalling for Oikawa after receiving his texts. Kageyama had been in no mood to chat, agitated by something Oikawa had done, curled up into the couch.

Ushijima had never been bothered by silence, but in this moment, when he felt something important had transpired, it felt suffocating. His texts to the group chat remained unanswered. Kageyama redressed in his dry clothes with a sullen expression, and, eventually, Iwaizumi appeared to drive him back to the orphanage.

Ushijima was left alone in the apartment to stew.

If it was only that, it would not have bothered him too much. But even after Oikawa and Iwaizumi returned, they became caught up in the hurricane of each other. Land meeting sea, an intricate dance as they worked seamlessly together, leaving Ushijima winded and ungrounded.

 _They are not doing it on purpose,_ he reminds himself, counting the flowers in his bouquet. He could use a few more. He moves to the next aisle of flowers.

He had watched as they spoke rapidly too each other, conversation skipping around, unnecessary words omitted, entire ideas left within their shared minds never needing to be uttered. Ushijima had strained to follow before realizing it was pointless. They’d left him on the ground and we’re already off in outer space, flying amongst the stars.

_“The orphanage knew, everything’s been reported correctly.”_

_(Knew what?_ Ushijima had thought.)

_“They don’t have the capacity to give him what he needs.”_

_“I’ve never seen it so clear cut, it made me sick.”_

_(Seen what?_ Ushijima had thought.)

_“He didn’t show me. I didn’t press.”_

_“He can’t stay there. He needs... You’re saying he hasn’t been to school? Don’t they care?”_

_“There are so many kids there, Tooru.”_

_“Hajime...”_

_“I know.”_

_“He can’t stay there.”_

_(What did you see, Oikawa, to change your mind so fast?_ Ushijima had tried to ask.)

_“Are you sure?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“They might not even let us. We’re not...We’re not the traditional sort of fosterers.”_

_“Right.”_

_“I can ask.”_

_(Explain from the beginning,_ Ushijima had frowned as he was ignored)

_“Right.”_

_“Just ask.”_

_“Right.”_

_“Is that ok?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_(They are not doing it on purpose_ , Ushijima had whispered to himself as the conversation ended.)

The stem in his hand snaps and he blinks, frowning severely. He had forgotten himself and taken it out on an innocent. He couldn’t dwell on this anymore. He takes a deep breath and finishes the first bouquet. He moves on to the next without incident, and then into the third, interrupted only by a guest or two asking questions while they browse.

Before he knows it, lunch has come its way, punctuated by a strong tap on his shoulders. When he turns he finds Iwaizumi standing behind him, “Hey.”

Ushijima tries to relax his shoulders, “Hello.” He can’t.

“We’re sorry, about-about last night,” Iwaizumi offers, and Ushijima has no idea how he knows, always just _knows_ what is bothering Ushijima at any given moment. How Iwaizumi could read either of them like an open book, “I know it gets overwhelming when we get into our legal talk.”

But he is not always right.

 _That’s not it_ , Ushijima thinks, _you both talk in codes devised from years of play and have yet to even explain to me the rules_.

It’s a weird thought, and there is probably a better way to communicate it then the way his mind has summed it up. His tongue locks up in his mouth and Iwaizumi takes his silence as a brooding assent. Ushijima does not have the energy to correct him.

He drops the miscommunication, fingers twitching at his sides, “Will you explain to me the situation then?”

“We will,” Iwaizumi replies, “Tonight. It’s...It’s too heavy for right now.”

Ushijima decides he can accept this much, “Alright.”

“You wanna eat lunch with me upstairs?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima shakes his head, because he can’t accept everything, “I do not.” He realizes, a bit too late, how damning the sentence is, from the hurt clearly flashing in Iwaizumi’s green eyes.

Ushijima forgets, often, how different words are from swords: that the blunter they are the more cutting they become.

He can’t take them back, so he pushes through, offering a cushion, “I have a lot of work to do. I look forward to tonight.” He leaves him there, walking toward the back of the store. Iwaizumi gets the message, Ushijima can see him leave the store through his periphery.

He sighs, turning back around to sit at the front desk. Or he would have, if a child wasn’t occupying it.

“Kageyama,” he greets, and he chides himself for being surprised. The boy had visited him every day for a few weeks now. It was to be expected.

“Ushijima-san,” Kageyama says in turn.

“No school today?” Ushijima asks.

“No,” Kageyama replies, and Ushijima wonders if _this_ was what the whole ordeal was about. But he doesn’t want to think of it.

“Can you sweep for me?” Ushijima asks.

Kageyama nods, hoping down from the stool obediently. He steps over to the supply closet, pulling out the broom and then scurrying around the shop. Ushijima sits on his stool, elbow leaning against the counter, watching.

Kageyama sweeps in concentrated silence, eye brows drawn together into a furious scowl. His movements are sloppy but earnest. Ushijima corrects him a few times regardless.

At one point Kageyama fidgets, looking over at him, “Ushijima-san.”

“Yes?”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Ushijima considers this a moment, “I have always been partial to roses. They are straightforward, but there is nuance in the colors if you want more depth.”

Kageyama purses his lips, nodding very seriously as he takes the information in. Ushijima looks at him, “What is your favorite flower, Kageyama?”

Kageyama bites his lip, “I like, the, the puffy orange ones in the back.”

“Dahlias?” Ushijima prompts. Kageyama nods vigorously. Ushijima smiles, “Good taste.”

Kageyama blinks at him, cheeks a bit flushed. Ushijima chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest, sitting up, “That is what Dahlias signify. Good taste,” he explains mercifully, feeling his mood alleviate.

Kageyama turns back to his sweeping, but he does not get far before his movements still, fingers squeezing the broom handle nervously. He flicks his blue gaze up, “Ushijima-san?”

“Yes, Kageyama?”

“What do sunflowers mean?”

“A lot of things,” Ushijima responds carefully, “Sometimes respect, other times passionate love, why?”

Kageyama flushes a bit more, shaking his head, “Nothing.”

Ushijima raises a brow, but he lets it drop.

* * *

Ushijima remembers the first meal Oikawa actually spoke back to him.

He had seen Oikawa by the Political Science building at the beginning of their freshman spring semester, eyes drawn to his perfect chocolate brown locks, matching pretty eyes and long lean body. He had immediately tried to speak to him, only to be mostly ignored. But Ushijima was never one to give up, even when it became incredibly clear that Oikawa was already dating someone, he pushed on. It helped that Iwaizumi seemed open to his friendship, smiling at him whenever he appeared to try to communicate with Oikawa.

Soon he had begun injecting himself in their lunches, with varied success, until, one specific day when Oikawa actually spoke to him of his own volition.

“You play Pokemon?” Oikawa had asked, incredulously, leaning over to look at the DS Ushijima had been about to put away. He had only been playing to pass the time before Iwaizumi and Oikawa returned to the table with their food.

He blinks, pausing in his motions, “I do.”

“Do you have the new game?” Iwaizumi asks from across the table.

Ushijima nods, “I am playing it currently.”

Oikawa squints at him beside him, leaning a bit closer to look at his screen in disbelief, “You need heart to play Pokemon, though.”

Ushijima takes note of how their shoulders almost brush. It’s distracting. Because of this, it takes a moment for Ushijima to realize the words are a slight against him, only putting two and two together when Iwaizumi slams his foot against Oikawa’s shin from under the table, “Don’t be such a little shit, Trashykawa.”

Oikawa lets out a whine, hand sliding under the table to grasp his wound, glaring at Iwaizumi, “What, it’s true!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, green gaze settling on Ushijima, “This guy’s the most heartless Pokemon player in the world. All he cares about are stats. He puts his starter in the _box_.”

“That’s not true, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa snaps, “And it’s called strategy, my Pokemon have to have the best IVs. You should learn to play properly.”

“Properly? You don’t even complete the pokedex half the time.”

“Once I have a well rounded team it’s unecessary.”

“What ever happened to _gotta catch ‘em all_?”

Ushijima swallows, the conversation flowing back and forth with the effortless skill of two pro table tennis players. His eyes jump from side to side, mouth dry trying to find a place to speak up. To be a part of it all. He decides to just speak, forcing his way through.

“I do not usually complete my pokedex either,” Ushijima admits.

Oikawa smirks.

“I am not sure what you mean by IVs,” he continues, a bit disappointed when Oikawa’s smile drops, “I like to train my starter until it can take on any contender, and then win the game.”

Oikawa actually groans at that, sinking in his chair, “Oh my God, you are the _worst_ kind of player.”

Iwaizumi laughs, though, and Ushijima feels his chest twinge at the sound, “He’s mad because your one pokemon would probably demolish his entire team.”

“Over-leveling is cheating. Where’s the finesse in that?” Oikawa argues, waving his chopstick around in a flourish, to accentuate his point.

“It is the strong who win,” Ushijima counters, simply.

Iwaizumi laughs again.

Ushijima licks his lips, looking down at his tray of food. The conversation turns, and Ushijima becomes lost again in the back and forth of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. But it is not entirely unpleasant, he enjoys the stories, the smiles that dance across their faces as they speak to each other. He feels no pressure to add to it, which can be its own little reprieve. To take a break from conversing, but still be there.

When they finish their meal Iwaizumi and Oikawa stand up to head to their shared poli-sci class. Ushijima gets up to go to his next lab, but Oikawa speaks to him again, “Ushijima, bring your game again tomorrow, I’m going to trash your rowlet.”

“My rowlet is a decidueye,” he responds back.

Oikawa snorts, a smile trying to squirm its way on his face, “Oh my God, you are _so_ ridiculous sometimes! Like talking to a robot.”

Iwaizumi jabs him with his elbow, then waves goodbye.

It is after they disappear that Ushijima realizes Oikawa has invited him to lunch. It is the first time he has been extended any kind of cordiality, and the realization makes his chest squeeze. His grip on his tray tightens as he stands up.

He feels seedlings in his heart begin to grow.

* * *

That evening the explanation does not spill out immediately, despite Ushijima’s hopes. Instead, there is small talk as the three begin preparing dinner. Ushijima hates this, wants to get to the point, to bulldoze through. And when he can finally feel the conversation ebbing the way he wishes, Oikawa’s damn phone rings.

Ushijima leaves Iwaizumi in the kitchen to finish preparing dinner, following Oikawa into his bedroom. Iwaizumi furrows his brow at him but does not press, turning back to look at his pan of fried vegetables.

Ushijima steps into the room, Oikawa sitting at the edge of his bed, phone pressed to his ear, elbows resting heavily on his knees. He looks up at Ushijima’s entrance, giving a forced smile that closes his eyes. It evaporates quickly as he speaks into the phone, “I’ve been trying to reach you for days, Dad.”

Ushijima closes the door behind him, suspicions confirmed, and sits beside Oikawa. He does nothing else.

“I’m not mad,” Oikawa sighs, free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Of course I love you.” Ushijima watches him grit his teeth, “Of course Fumiko loves you! Just, just give her time alright...Takeru’s fine, he’s studying hard for university. I’ll tell him to call you.”

Ushijima scooches his body closer and Oikawa leans against his offered side, rolling his eyes at Ushijima, about something his father must be saying, “Dad, Dad, Dad I can’t talk for too long, Iwa-chan’s making dinner and you know how he gets about cold food.”

Oikawa snickers into his phone, smile growing on his face. Ushijima lets his hand glide through his hair, “Mm, Dad, before I go, I know this is a silly question but, do you happen to have mom’s old cat figurine?”

Ushijima feels Oikawa stiffen against him before the man rises completely to stand, “You do!? Oh, yes! Mom’s been looking everywhere for--No, that’s not, I didn’t _say_ that, calm down!” Oikawa huffs, beginning to pace, “I know you didn’t take it on purpose, no one’s saying you did.”

Ushijima watches him pace the room, hands longing to ease the tension in Oikawa’s hand, the way it clenches and unclenches by his side, “Can I just--No, you don’t have to--Look, let me, let me talk, Dad! Just, can I come by tomorrow after work and grab it from you?”

Ushijima watches the conversation wrap up, punctuated by stiff goodbyes and Oikawa throwing his cell phone at his bed with a frustrated noise. Ushijima leans back on the bed, arm reaching for the device before it slips through the crack behind their bed, lost forever.

“All this bullshit for an _ugly_ cat figurine my mom _never_ cared about before,” Oikawa seethes, hands curling into himself as he crosses his arms, fingers digging into his shirt, and Ushijima fears he’ll scratch at himself.

“Can I help?” Ushijima asks, hand already extending out.

“I don’t know,” Oikawa sighs, ignoring the offering, “I’m fine, I’m just overreacting,” Oikawa shrugs off, but Ushijima does not believe him, standing up to reach out to him. Oikawa has turned away, “I’m hungry. Let’s not make Iwa-chan mad,” he mutters, leaving the room entirely.

Ushiijima follows after him, sitting down in his normal seat while Iwaizumi serves the food. They all sit down and start eating, but Iwaizumi’s curiosity is clearly eating away at him, “So, everything ok?” he asks, and Ushijima can see the nervous twitch of his fingers on the chopsticks.

Oikawa stabs at his food, “Dad has the figurine.”

“Oh, so you found it,” Iwaizumi congratulates.

“Except now I have to drive all the way out to Dad’s place to get the damn thing, and then I’m going to have to get another train ticket to go _home_ to deliver it to my mom so there goes my entire week,” Oikawa groans.

“Why not have your sister come get it?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa shoves some fried rice in his mouth, swallowing before continuing, “ _Because_ Nee-chan has decided she’s never speaking to Dad ever again, so now _I_ have to do everything.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth opens, but he thinks better of it, filling it with his own morsel of rice.

Ushijima steps in, “I have not been to Onogawa in years now, I can most likely accompany you, if you would like.”

Iwaizumi nods, grabbing on to the offered branch, “I can try to take off too, I know my parents have been pestering me to come see them.”

Oikawa purses his lips, thinking it over, in his head. He’s about to respond when Iwaizumi’s cell rings, and the man excuses himself to take it. Oikawa deflates, leaning back in his chair tiredly. He reaches his hand out, making a needy grabby motion. Ushijima complies, slipping his hand between his fingers for him to grip.

“It could be a vacation.” Ushijima says.

Oikawa snorts, “Maybe for you guys.”

Ushijima shakes his head, “We can make it a little vacation. Drop off the figurine and then leave. We could go to Tashirojima.”

Oikawa smiles, “Cute,” he murmurs. He looks over at Ushijima lazily, smile still in place, “Since when did Ushiwaka get so agreeable?”

Ushijima rolls his eyes, “You are the one always looking to twist my words. I have been nothing but kind.”

Oikawa laughs, fingers squeezing his hand, “Cute! Ushiwaka you’re so cute and funny! But I will never forgive you for trying to mansplain Japanese law to me.”

“I was trying to help.”

“I was pre-law! I already knew everything! You were so condescending!”

“I just wanted to help,” Ushijima repeats with a huff.

Iwaizumi returns, catching wind of the current topic, “Oikawa, we’ve been over this, he wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

Oikawa snickers into his hand, Ushijima pries his own free, glaring at Iwaizumi who gives him a handsome grin in turn. Iwaizumi waves the conversation away, sitting down, “Hey, listen, that was the orphanage on the phone.”

Oikawa and Ushijima perk up.

Iwaizumi continues, “Things are looking good. They want us there tomorrow after work to go over everything.”

“We can’t,” Oikawa shoots back immediately, “I have to go to Dad’s.”

Iwaizumi blinks, brow furrowing, “Can’t you just call him back?”

“It was a nightmare to get him on the phone in the first place! No way am I trying to reschedule.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, “Oikawa--“

“Do we all need to go?” Ushijima cuts in quickly.

“I guess not,” Iwaizumi concedes, but Ushijima can feel the waves of disappointment casting off him, “Ushiwaka and I can just go.”

“Ushiwaka-chan is coming with me to Dad’s,” Oikawa snaps back.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi starts.

“Iwaizumi,” Oikawa counters, childishly.

Iwaizumi bites his tongue, having been burned too many times as of recently, “Whatever,” Iwaizumi growls, picking up his half finished bowl and dumping it in the trash, “Do what you want.”

Ushijima waits until Iwaizumi disappears into the bedroom before sending Oikawa a severe look, “You are being unfair.”

“Life’s unfair,” Oikawa shoots back, standing up, “I need backup at Dad’s, so he doesn’t keep me there for hours because I _know_ he will.”

“Fine,” Ushijima sighs, following him into the kitchen, “But tell Iwaizumi that.”

“He’ll still call me selfish,” Oikawa spits.

“What?” Ushijima furrows.

“Putting myself above the kid,” Oikawa murmurs more to himself than for anyone else, “I get it, he needs help more than I do. I’m an adult, but damn it, I don’t want to do any of this!”

“Oikawa, what happened yesterday?” Ushijima pleads, taking the other mans shaky hands lest he break a plate.

Oikawa looks pained at the question, but he mercifully speaks, “Tobio-chan...” he sighs through his nose and rips through the rest like a bandaid, like he would a case at work, “Tobio-chan has a history of abuse. He needs...He needs someone to care about him, like you do and Iwa-chan does, and that’s why...It’s fine, for a bit, to have him here.”

Ushijima blinks, processing the information slowly, “How do you know all this?”

Oikawa deflates, letting the air slip out of him, he pull his hands back, fiddling with his fingers, “Immersion burns, on his feet. Don’t know if he has others. But it was clear. I’ve seen pictures before.”

“What?” Ushijima continues, lost.

Oikawa swallows, “His feet, the skin’s...the skin’s scarred over from bad burns but theres like, we call it a stocking line. There’s a clear divide where his healthy skin starts up again by his ankles, where the boiling water must have stopped. There’s only, there’s only one way to get burns like that.”

“How?”

Oikawa looks at him again, disgust painted on his features as he forces the words out, “You have to be held down.”

* * *

Ushijima looks over at Oikawa as the car comes to a stop in front of the apartment complex. The building looms over them, black numbers the only thing designating each identical unit from the other. Oikawa turns off the car, takes the keys out, then hesitates, “Do you want the air on?”

“I’m fine,” Ushijima says.

“I should crack a window open,” Oikawa mutters, shoving his keys back into the ignition.

“I am not a dog,” Ushijima says.

Oikawa wrenches his keys out again, “Fine, cook for all I care.” He throws his door open, climbing out.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima looks at him.

Oikawa lets out a sigh, shoulders sagging as he turns back around, “Sorry,” he says, but it sounds distracted. He looks back at the ground unit they are parked in front of: 114. He turns back to Ushijima, “If I’m not out of there in ten minutes call me, make some excuse up to get me out of there. I refuse to be sucked into the vortex that is my father’s incessant rants.”

 _So that’s where you get it from_ , Ushijima thinks with a ghost of a smile. He nods at Oikawa, who slams his door shut. He watches his partner make his way to the unit. He stands outside the door, knocking, bouncing from one foot to the other before finally being let in.

Ushijima sinks back into his chair. He lifts his butt up, fingers digging for the phone situated uncomfortably in his back pocket. He retrieves it, sliding open the texting app to check on Iwaizumi.

_How are you doing?_

It takes a few seconds, but Iwaizumi’s response is relatively prompt.

_About to drive over so nothin to report back yet. How are things?_

Ushijima’s eyes wonder around the car for a moment, piecing together the correct word to convey the trip so far.

_Tense._

_Is oikawa driving u mad already?_

Ushijima frowns, bringing the phone closer to his face.

_He is very stressed. He just entered his father’s new place._

The three dots dance on his screen for a long time. Six minutes, and Ushijima only knows because he is keeping track of the clock for Oikawa’s sake. The response isn’t worth the wait.

_Im leaving for the orphanage. i’ll talk to u later_

Ushijima frowns, swiping his phone over to one of his mindless app games. He works on beating his high score in 2048. He gives Oikawa 12 minutes to reappear. When he doesn’t, he exits out of the game and pulls up his phone app.

The call is ignored.

He frowns deeper, redialing.

It rings.

He waits.

It rings.

He waits.

It stops ringing.

He gets out of the car.

Ushijima crosses over toward the door Oikawa disappeared from, knocking on the wood. He’s about ready to call him a third time when the door is finally pulled open. Oikawa’s back is to him, one hand gripping the door tight enough that his whole arm shakes. Ushijima can’t see past his body, but Oikawa is sayingsomething to his father in a hurried voice. And then he is turned around, pushing Ushijima back from where he came and rushing onto the driver’s seat.

Ushijima sits down in the passenger seat, gold eyes questioning. Oikawa looks like he’s about to rip apart and tear the whole world down with him. His right hand grips a paper wrapped lump and in his tense fury he almost throws it into the backseat. He hesitates, though, exhaling through his nose before handing it to Ushijima to keep safe in his lap.

“Oikawa?”

“Not right now,” Oikawa hisses, shoving his keys into the ignition and starting the car up. He places a hand on Ushijima’s seat back, twisting his body around to check behind him.

“Do you want me to drive?” Ushijima offers.

Oikawa pulls out of the space, “No,” he replies, gaze focused only on the road, “I need to be doing something.”

Ushijima nods, and the half hour ride back to their home is silent. Oikawa even forgets to turn the radio on. His body is rigid beside him, and Ushijima lets him sit in this, gives him this space to reflect and be. He has never been good at comforting. Iwaizumi is better, knows when to pull Oikawa in for a tight hug, knows what inspiring words to say, knows how to bring the brilliant smile back to their beloved lawyer.

But Ushijima is not Iwaizumi.

So he stays silent and lets Oikawa be.

When they get home, Oikawa puts the figurine on the kitchen island, walking silently to his bedroom to change. Ushijima decides to get started on dinner, pouring rice into their cooker. He washes the grains three times, swirling the water around with his clean hands. When he deems them safe, he pours in fresh water and sets them into the cooker properly. It chirps at him.

When he turns back around Oikawa is sitting at the kitchen island. He’s wearing one of Ushijima’s old shirt from college, a biology pun from his old major department emblazoned on his chest. His shorts are Iwaizumi’s, dark and a bit loose on him, but they show off the expanse of Oikawa’s pale thighs.

He’s buried his face in the nest of his arms, laying flat on the counter. Ushijima frowns at him, fighting the urge to lift him up. Instead, he looks at the wrapped up figurine. He picks it up carefully, fingers smoothing over the taped up newspaper, “May I open it?”

Oikawa gives a noncommittal grunt, his shoulders shrugging without disturbing his current face planted existence. Ushijima takes this as consent, carefully unwrapping it, stripping it free of its newspaper coffin. What he is left with is a white porcelain cat, blue paint highlighting its thighs and tail. It’s sitting with one paw lifted in the air. But it’s face is not of a cat, but rather that of an ugly person. Sparse eyebrows hang over black doll eyes and a small nose. Red lined lips dot the center, framed by blushing cheeks. It’s...

“It’s hideous,” Oikawa hisses. He’s turned his head to the side, one eye visible beneath his bangs and the crook of his elbow, “It’s the most god awful ugly ass thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“It is certainly unique,” Ushijima says, placing it back down.

Oikawa’s fingers curl up on the marble, bitten down fingernails dig into his palms and Ushijima can’t help catching sight of it. High alert. Just in case.

Iwaizumi opens the door then, a sudden rush of energy in the somber house. Ushijima looks over, taking in the man’s bright grin, and the paper he’s holding.

“We’re good!” he announces, “We’re good!”

“We are good?” Ushijima repeats.

Iwaizumi puts the paper down on the counter, “It took a lot of convincing but, they finally gave the okay. It’s just so overcrowded there, and he’s not getting the attention he needs, especially all things considering. But its okay now. They said we could foster him. We’re good.”

Ushijima feels a mix of emotions swirl in his stomach, he’s not even sure he has a name for all of them. He opens his mouth to respond as such, when the scrape of Oikawa’s chair screeches in his ears. He looks over, only to find Oikawa stalking away without a word, slamming his bedroom door shut.

Iwaizumi’s expression falls, “What happened? Is he alright?”

“He has been in a bad mood since leaving his father. He hasn’t told me anything yet.”

“Hasn’t said anything yet? Like at all?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I’ll go check on him,” Iwaizumi mutters, but Ushijima darts his hand out, keeping him back with a firm grip on his wrist. Iwaizumi looks up at him confused.

“I think I should check on him,” Ushijima says quickly. Iwaizumi seems to stiffen under him, eyes squinting slightly, as if incredulously. Ushijima decides to explain further, “You might make him more upset as it is. I think it’s best if I take care of him right now.”

Iwaizumi wrenches away from him and Ushijima fears he might have offended him somehow. But Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, just pushes past him toward the cabinets, prying them open and finding their frying pan. He slams it on the stovetop and Ushijima guesses this means he’s cooking dinner tonight.

He steps away toward Oikawa’s bedroom, knocking quietly before opening the door regardless.

He finds Oikawa half on his bed, legs dangling off the side. He’s looking up at the ceiling, arms spread out wide. His stare is blank, like he is seeing past the ceiling, perhaps at the constellations above. Ushijima awkwardly stands over him, debating how to begin the conversation.

Oikawa saves him, speaking first, “He started crying.”

Ushijima blinks at him. Oikawa doesn’t shift his gaze from the past-ceiling.

“He started crying and wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know what to do or what to say,” he continues.

“Who?” Ushijima asks.

“My father,” Oikawa responds, “I got there and he just started crying. I, I’ve never, I’ve never seen him cry before in my entire life. Not once. I realized it at that moment. He always told _me_ to stop crying. I was always crying when I was little. But he never cried. But he just started crying and I didn’t know what to do.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything.

Oikawa turns onto his side, away from Ushijima, hands curling up close to his chest, “He asked if I still loved him. What kind of question is that? It’s so stupid. I hate it. I hate all of this. He said mom loved me more than him. What am I supposed to say to that? I’m sorry?” he takes in a shaky breath, fingers digging into his shirt, right by his heart, “Isn’t that how it is? That’s what you give up when you have a kid. You give up being the one and only. I can’t believe he, I can’t believe he said that to me. She loved me more than him. He’s so stupid. It’s all so stupid.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything, but he does take a seat on the bed, fingers sliding over to pet through Oikawa’s brown locks in sympathy. 

“I sound like a, like a, I sound like a child,” his breath hitches, curling a bit tighter in on himself, “And now _I’m_ crying and it’s all so _stupid_ , Ushiwaka, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“I know,” Ushijima murmurs, “I understand.”

“When does it stop _hurting_ so much?” Oikawa practically begs, sucking in a breath sharply.

Before Ushijima can even attempt to answer, the door cracks open. Ushijima can feel Oikawa tense beneath his fingers. They both look over at the door, but Iwaizumi’s face does not appear in the open slit. Instead, the visage of an old worn, felt stuffed animal does.

Ushijima can _feel_ Oikawa’s surprised smile overtake his face in the way it stretches his skin underneath his fingertips.

The toy head shakes a little for good measure, before Iwaizumi slips in himself, holding out the stuffed animal like a shield.

“Zilla-kun heard crying,” he explains.

“How sweet of Zilla-chan to check on me,” Oikawa whispers back, arm reaching up for the toy. Iwaizumi passes it over, and Oikawa takes it, but he also drags Iwaizumi down too.

Ushijima lays down completely, beside the two, watching them carefully.

Iwaizumi takes a moment, disentangling himself enough that he can prop his elbow on the bed, resting his face on his palm, “We don’t, we don’t have to do this. Fostering, I mean. We don’t.”

Oikawa smiles sadly into the old Godzilla plush, bopping Iwaizumi’s nose with a slender finger, “That’s not what I’m mad about Hajime.”

“Well,” Ushijima comments, “It is definitely a part of it.”

Oikawa glowers at him.

“I’m serious,” Iwaizumi continues, “We have to all be on board for this kind of thing. And, and it’s a lot to ask. And I know you’re going through so much right now. I don’t want to... So we don’t, we don’t have to do this.”

Oikawa ignores the statement, in favor of rolling back on his back. He stares up at the ceiling again, much like before. He puts on a more high pitched tone, as if the teasing lilt would hide his horrid insecurities,“What if Iwa-chan and Ushiwaka-chan fall out of love with me. What then?”

Iwaizumi flicks his shoulder, “Don’t be stupid. You think Kageyama could ever replace you?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond immediately, eyes flicking to the side. Iwaizumi sits up, staring at him, “Are you serious? He’s a child, Oikawa. You’re thirty years old, I’ve known you for twenty five fucking years, and I’m still here. What are you saying?”

Oikawa purses his lips, a bit petulantly, “Kids ruin relationships. You wont coddle me anymore, or dote on me or love me as much.”

“You’re so full of yourself. You’re not our baby, Oikawa, you’re our boyfriend. I love you. _We_ love you,” Iwaizumi insists.

“If anything, I am _technically_ the youngest person in this relationship,” Ushijima offers.

Oikawa lets out a sudden laugh, curling up into a sitting position, “Our little baby Wakatoshi,” he coos with his snickers, “I wish I had been around to see that.”

 _I do too_ , Ushijima thinks, because he’s been lost, hanging on the words _twenty five fucking years_ this whole time. Twenty five years. A quarter of a century. Too much ground to ever possibly make up.

Oikawa takes both their hands in his own then, expression growing serious once his giggles die down, “You both like the kid, he needs help and we have the room for it. I won’t... I won’t stop it. But it’s fostering, it’s temporary. This is only until we can find him proper parents. Ok?”

Iwaizumi kisses his cheek, nose brushing to the side of his eye, tickling the skin there. Iwaizumi turns slightly, burrowing into Oikawa’s hair.

Oikawa’s eyes flick over to Ushijima, lingering on his face. Ushijima lifts his hand to card through Oikawa’s hair once more.

“Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, his own hand sliding through Iwaizumi’s hair above him. Ushijima looks at him patiently. “Is it going to be ok?” Oikawa asks, quiet, soft.

Ushijima allows a rare smile, leaning closer to press a kiss to the man’s lips, “It will be.”

Oikawa kisses him back, slow and sweet, hands disengaging to cup Ushijima’s face. Iwaizumi takes the moment to maneuver them up the bed, barely disrupting the pair.

Ushijima’s kisses become more forceful, patience wearing thinner, hands digging into brown locks. Oikawa pulls away with a lazy smile, eyes slightly glazed. He tilts his head back, letting Iwaizumi slip into his vision as well, “Boys,” Oikawa says.

Ushijima and Iwaizumi look at him intently, a rare obedience settling over the two. Like his two loyal dogs, ears perked and at attention, awaiting their master’s orders. Oikawa can not help how his lips quirk at the image.

“Will you pamper me one last time?” he breathes.

“Don’t say last,” Iwaizumi chides, one hand running up and down Oikawa’s thigh, a barely there touch that makes Oikawa shudder.

“I want to be worshipped,” Oikawa continues, leaning back against the pillows. Iwaizumi snorts. Ushijima presses his face into Oikawa’s neck, continuing his kisses, because he is a man of action, not words. Iwaizumi focuses on Oikawa’s legs, fingers running along the skin, up and down, before lingering on the hem of his shorts.

Oikawa lifts his hips up, arching them into Ushijima, who has not left his neck once, and allows Iwaizumi to tug his shorts down. Ushijima laps along the skin, teeth grazing Oikawa’s jugular as he journeys slowly southward.

Oikawa stops thinking about his father’s tear stained face. Stops thinking of his sister’s panic stricken voice. Stops thinking of boiling water sizzling skin. Stop’s thinking of his own faults, his selfishness, his unworthiness, his anxiety.

Oikawa stops thinking all together, and let’s his boys wash over him instead, reminding him he _is_ loved despite it all.

At least, right now, he is loved.

Dinner is forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear kageyama will feature more prominently soon, we just need to get him in the house first lol
> 
> this story is super fun to write and also really damn hard to keep everyone IC. LOL
> 
> thank you for all your encouraging words!!!! they really do keep me motivated.
> 
> until next time


	5. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima-san looks over at him and he doesn’t smile, but his face is safe. Ushijima-san’s face is always safe. He doesn’t know why Iwaizumi-san calls it scary at times. It’s the same face Kageyama sees in the mirror all the time. It’s the safest face there is.

Kageyama Tobio is four years old when he last hears from his father. Kageyama Tobio is seven years old when he makes his first friend. Kageyama Tobio is eight years old when he loses his first friend. Kageyama Tobio is nine years old when his mother passes away. Kageyama Tobio is nine years old when he is taken to an orphanage. Kageyama Tobio is ten years old when a family comes in to adopt him and isn’t impressed. 

Kageyama Tobio has dealt with enough in his eleven years of existence. 

So when the Orphanage Lady, who Kageyama had never bothered learning the name of, tells him there’s another family here who wants to see him he feels nothing. He knows how it will go. They will read over his file, see all the bad things and walk away. And Kageyama will go back to his small bed and go to sleep.

But when he sees Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san and Oikawa-san in the adoption area he freezes. Literally freezes, feels coldness seep into his bones starting in his toes creeping upwards until his legs refuse to move. His eyes widen, and his fingers dig into his palms, moon shaped crescents imprinting in his skin.

He had never seen them all together before. They are all tall, and massive, and terrifying three times over. But he knows Ushijima-san is kind despite his sternness and his large hands are delicate with anything fragile. Kageyama can feel his own fingers again, warming up in his palms. He also knows Iwaizumi-san is good and feeds him lunch every so often. Kageyama can feel himself thawing out. And Oikawa-san is--

Oikawa-san looks at him with a raised eyebrow, eyes steely like the pictures of hawks Kageyama had seen in one of his nature books.

Oikawa-san is  _ scary _ .

He feels his feet turning to ice again. 

“Kageyama, these, uh, these men want to help you, want to take you into their home and foster you,” Orphanage Lady introduces.

Kageyama’s eyes widen, because he can’t believe it. And his lips are frozen shut. 

Iwaizumi-san smiles at him, folding his knees to squat. He’s at Kageyama’s eye level, and Kageyama feels a bit calmer not having to look up so much. He remembers he needs to breathe then, huffing loudly through his nose because his mouth won’t work. 

“Hey Kageyama,” Iwaizumi-san says, simply. 

Kageyama knows how to respond to something like this, and it’s enough comfort to crack open his lips, “Hello Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi-san is still smiling at him, and it’s a safe smile because it makes Kageyama feel warm. Iwaizumi-san has only ever had safe smiles, “How are you?”

Kageyama hates this kind of question. Usually, he doesn’t bother answering it, but Iwaizumi-san is nice, and he’s a policeman, which is really cool, and he doesn’t want to disappoint him, “I’m ok.”

“That’s good to hear,” Iwaizumi-san says and his big hand is suddenly on Kageyama’s shoulder and Kageyama doesn’t like it one bit, but he’s also not sure what to do about it so he does nothing, feeling like his brain’s short wired, “I know this is a lot to take in,” Iwaizumi-san continues, and Kageyama can’t focus because he doesn’t want the hand on him, he doesn’t want the hand on him, he doesn’t want the ha--

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa-san suddenly cuts in, and he’s smiling too, but it’s a dangerous smile, wide and icy and Kageyama is  _ terrified _ , “Let’s not overwhelm him.” 

And then Oikawa-san’s eyes flick to the side, and Iwaizumi-san seems to understand what that means, and suddenly the hand on Kageyama’s shoulder is gone and Kageyama can breathe again. 

Kageyama stares at Oikawa-san then. 

Oikawa-san does not meet his gaze looking at the woman and smiling at her, and Kageyama doesn’t know how to classify it when it isn’t directed at him, “Akemi-san, I’d love to go through the paperwork with you so we can get this done smoothly.” He takes a seat as he speaks, looking confident. So confident Kageyama is in awe of him.

Iwaizumi-san may not have his hand on his shoulder, but he is still squatting in front of him, “Kageyama, can you show Ushiwaka and I where your stuff is?”

Kageyama  _ can _ do that, but he doesn’t really want to. His eyes are caught on Oikawa-san, discussing his file with the Orphanage Lady. Normally, this only ever goes one way--they read about his bad grades, his suspensions, his time outs and they close the file and leave and Kageyama never sees them again. 

Oikawa-san is asking questions. He is looking at fine print. He is pointing at lines and reading things over closely. He isn’t closing the file. He isn’t walking away.

Kageyama stares at him. 

There’s a nudge at his arm, prompting him to snatch the limb close to himself. But he relaxes because it’s just Iwaizumi-san getting his attention again. Iwaizumi-san smiles and it is safe, “Leave the paperwork to the lawyer,” he says, “Come on, let’s go get your stuff.”

Kageyama frowns, but he follows after Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san, slipping past to lead them down the hallway toward where the ten to twelve year old boys sleep. He walks down to the ninth bed in the row and digs through his cubby to pull out his bag of things. 

It’s kind of a blur after that, distracted by simple, doable tasks. It doesn’t take long to pack his things; it takes even less time to say goodbye to the other children. He had never really bothered talking to them, and when he did they only ignored him, or made him angry and then he’d had to sit in the quiet room.

But then, all too quickly it seems, he’s being nudged into a car he’d been in only once before, when Iwaizumi-san drove him home a while ago. Iwaizumi-san is driving again now, and Oikawa-san is sitting next to him, and Kageyama’s file is in his lap. Ushijima-san is next to Kageyama in the back seat and he hasn’t really said anything this whole time and Kageyama likes that. 

Kageyama looks up at him. Ushijima-san looks over at him and he doesn’t smile, but his face is safe. Ushijima-san’s face is always safe. He doesn’t know why Iwaizumi-san calls it scary at times. It’s the same face Kageyama sees in the mirror all the time. It’s the safest face there is. 

Ushijima nods at him and Kageyama feels his mouth wobble and he tries to fight it down.  _ His _ smiles aren’t safe, they are scary and ugly and he doesn’t want to scare Ushijima-san right now. Because they’re not that far from the orphanage and they might turn around still and he’ll have to put his bag back into his little cubby and go back to his small bed. 

He doesn’t want that. He digs his fingers into the fabric of his pockets. 

The drive is mostly quiet. 

Kageyama knows that Ushijima-san and Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san live above the flower shop, but it doesn’t hit him that that is where he will be living now too until the car pulls up to it. He hugs his bag to his chest. 

It’s different than his old house. His old house had a yard with grass and a bird feeder and a brown picket fence. His old house had an old crow that would steal all the bird mix from the bird feeder and make his mother angry. But his old house also had neighbors with yards, neighbors with children who grew sunflowers and talked through the gaps in brown picket fences about nonsense. His old house had neighbors with children who stuffed petals through the slivers in the fence and ignored the splinters, and would pass back Kageyama’s ball every time until they didn’t. 

Kageyama doesn’t like thinking about his old house. 

Iwaizumi-san opens his car door and Kageyama gets out. Iwaizumi-san offers to take his bag but Kageyama denies him, “I can do it.”

They step through the flower shop, and Kageyama wants to just stay there. He likes the flower shop. It smells nice and it’s pretty and it’s safe. He’s only been upstairs once and it was awful. 

But he trudges up the stairs obediently anyway. 

The upstairs is the same as he remembers. He squeezes his bag closer to his chest. 

“Your room is kind of bare bones right now,” Iwaizumi-san says, “But we can get you whatever you want for it soon, alright?”

Kageyama shrugs, fingers digging into the fabric of his bag. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what he wants. The room in his old house had been small, and it had a bed and a chest of his toys. And that was it, really, because his mom didn’t really get him a lot of things, and he never really wanted all that much. 

“Show him which one’s his,” Oikawa-san orders from his spot by the door unwrapping his scarf, “And then let him be, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi-san sends Oikawa-san a look and Kageyama doesn’t know if it’s safe or not. He’s led past the living room down to the corridor. He knows one of the doors is the bathroom but the rest are alien to him. Iwaizumi-san opens up the first one.

“This is your room,” Iwaizumi-san supplies. Kageyama nods, stepping into it tentatively, “Put your stuff wherever you want. We’ll be in the kitchen,” he adds. 

Kageyama nods again, eyes taking in the room. There’s a bed in the middle of the room. It’s big. He puts his bag on top of it and wonders if he can move it to the corner. He doesn’t like it in the middle. He sits down on the bed, digs his fingers into the sheets and tries to take in more of the room. The walls are bare and clean, which is nice. There’s a wardrobe in the corner, and a desk. 

He blinks, standing up and making his way over to it. He reaches out, eyes wide as he touches the small bouquet of flowers in the simple black vase. A petal falls down and Kageyama retracts his hand quickly, fingers digging into his palms until it hurts. 

They’re the orange fluffy flowers he likes.  _ Dalias _ , he remembers Ushijima-san saying. His eyes wander down the vase to a small note sitting beside it. Written in clean crisp lines is,  _ Welcome home, Kageyama. _

Kageyama bites his lip and his chest hurts and he wonders why until he realizes he’s stopped breathing. He takes in a quick gasp, and another, but it’s not helping, it’s making it  _ worse _ . 

When he leaves his room he finds Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san sitting at the kitchen island. Ushijima-san is standing near them, holding a wooden spoon. Kageyama hurries over, movement stiff and awkward but determined until he is standing right in front of Ushijima-san.

Ushijima-san blinks at him. 

Kageyama isn’t good at this. His arms feel stiff, and his chest is hurting and his eyes are stinging and it’s hard to breathe and he can feel all three of the giant adults staring at him and he wants to hide but he also doesn’t want to mess it up. So he just does it, shoving his face into Ushijima-san’s abdomen, arms coming up to wrap around his side until even his ears are muffled by fabric and everything is dark and warm and ok.

He can feel Ushijima-san tense around him and then relax, and there’s a pat on his head, brief  and momentary. He can hear the spoon being placed on the counter before two hands press against his back, reciprocating, and it’s not really a hug, which is nice, because Kageyama can easily pull away with how light Ushijima-san’s touch is. But it also  _ is _ a hug, and it has been a long time since Kageyama has felt one.

Kageyama has never felt safer.

* * *

Kageyama doesn’t have to go to school this week and it’s nice. Although, he hasn’t gone to school in a long time so it’s not that different. But it’s nice not having to walk so far to go to the flower shop to help Ushijima-san.

Iwaizumi-san tells him he’s switching to a closer school, a nicer school, and that they are working to get him enrolled. Kageyama is fine with that. He didn’t like the other school. The other kids were stupid and made him angry and then he would be the only one who got in trouble and it was stupid. 

He spends the week in relative peace, sitting at the cash register, sweeping the aisles, counting seed packets and helping Ushijima-san pot new plants. He likes it a lot. It is quiet and he doesn’t have to talk to anyone and his tasks are simple. 

On Friday, he’s told he’ll be starting school again on Monday and he gets upset. He kicks the wall because he’s mad and he doesn’t want to go and he  _ hates _ school. Oikawa-san yells at him that he’s going to ruin the wall, so he kicks it harder because he’s angry, and Oikawa-san stands up from the dinner table and Kageyama is afraid. 

He thinks of his mom. 

He locks himself in his room even though he knows that will make it worse, but he’s scared and he hasn’t been punished in a long time and he doesn’t want to go back to it. He hides under his covers in the dark and hopes no one ever finds him again. 

No one forces the door open. 

No one opens the door at all. 

Enough time passes that he can breathe again and wipe at his face and sit up. He’s not sure what to do then, if he’s allowed to leave his room or not. But he supposes that he put himself there so he can go if he wants. 

Carefully, cautiously, he opens his door. 

Oikawa-san’s bedroom door is closed and he can hear muffled voices coming from behind it. He peers down the hallway and sees the T.V. on in the distance. He walks over, trying to be quiet, but it must not have worked because Iwaizumi-san mutes the T.V. and looks at him from his spot on the couch. 

“Hey, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi-san greets. 

Kageyama knows how to respond to this, “Hello, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi-san smiles and Kageyama can’t tell if it’s safe or not, but he knows it’s not dangerous. Iwaizumi-san pats the cushion next to him and Kageyama sits down. 

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Iwaizumi-san asks. 

Kageyama doesn’t know what he wants to talk about so he stays silent. 

“Why did you kick the wall?” Iwaizumi-san asks, instead.

Kageyama frowns further, biting his lip slightly, “I’m sorry,” he recites.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “That’s not what I asked.  _ Why _ did you kick the wall?”

Kageyama swallows, and his fingers dig into his knees, “I don’t know.”

Kageyama thinks Iwaizumi-san will be mad about this, but he isn’t. Instead, he leans back and looks at the T.V. which is nice. It’s better than Iwaizumi-san’s eyes being stuck on him. He keeps talking still, “I get angry a lot too.”

Kageyama doesn’t expect this, blue eyes looking over at Iwaizumi-san. He blinks at him. 

“When I was little there was this tree in my backyard I used to kick whenever I was really angry--don’t tell Ushiwaka. It wasn’t good. It’s not a good way to deal with it.” 

Kageyama curls his legs up onto the couch to hold them to his chest. He wiggles his toes within his socks, having them knead at the sofa. He still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. 

“In middle school I started playing volleyball. It was Oikawa’s idea. And it helped. Instead of hitting things I was hitting a ball and working with a team. It was fun. It helped. Have you thought about doing a sport?”

Kageyama shrugs, “I don’t like school.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi-san replies, “I didn’t either. But you still have to go.”

Kageyama squeezes his knees tighter to his chest.

“It’s a new school so it might be better, you never know,” Iwaizumi-san continues, and he nudges Kageyama’s knee lightly, making him sway, and Kageyama kind of hates that, but he also kind of doesn’t and it’s weird. He doesn’t say anything. 

Iwaizumi-san smiles, and this one is definitely safe, “Promise me you’ll try? At least for this week? And then we can see?”

Kageyama purses his lips, resting his head on his folded knees, but then he nods. Because he doesn’t want to disappoint Iwaizumi-san, and he knows it’s probably illegal not to go to school, and Iwaizumi-san is a policeman and has to follow all the laws. Iwaizumi-san ruffles his hair, like he used to before and Kageyama doesn’t hate it.

Iwaizumi-san sends Kageyama to bed with a glass of milk to sleep the rest of his emotions out, and Kageyama doesn’t have nightmares that night and it’s nice.

* * *

The new school is cleaner than his last school. Ushijima-san walks him there in the morning before opening up the flower shop and it’s weird holding his hand but Kageyama doesn’t hate it. Ushijima-san’s hand is really big compared to his own and it feels safe to have his own inside it. Because Ushijima-san would not crush a flower, so Kageyama doubts he would ever crush him.

Ushijima-san talks to the main desk lady for him and walks with him to his new classroom. He doesn’t go in there with him, but he pats his head lightly and asks if there is anything else Kageyama needs. Kageyama doesn’t know what to say so he shakes his head. 

When he walks in, the loud room quiets down. Kageyama stares at all the eyes on him, fingers digging into his palms. 

“Class, quiet down, our new transfer student is here,” his new teacher says, “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

His new teacher is a man, which is new. His old teachers had always been girls so far. 

Kageyama swallows, and he glares at the back of the wall and barks out his name, scribbling it onto the bored quickly. No one has any questions for him thankfully, and the teacher directs him to an empty desk in the back of the class. 

The first class is Literature but Kageyama hasn’t done any of the reading so the teacher doesn’t call on him. He keeps his eyes on the window, wondering when lunch will start, letting the voices of his new classmates lull him into a daydream. 

Literature blends into Math and then into English. He’s ignored in each class. Then it’s finally time for lunch and he stays in his seat. He digs out his bento box from his bag, unwrapping it and opening it up.

He freezes, eyes widening. His food has a  _ face _ . The rice is shaped like a little bear, with arms and legs and a sleepy expression, decorated with bits of nori and cheese. 

“Woah! Did your mom make that for you, Kageyama-kun?” 

Kageyama flinches at the noise, his desk neighbor leaning over to get a better look at his bento. His head is shaped like a shallot and Kageyama has already forgotten his name. 

“No,” Kageyama mutters back. 

“Who made it then? It looks so good!” the boy continues. 

Kageyama grips his chopsticks tighter, “Iwaizumi-san.”

“Who’s that?” the boy probes. 

Kageyama hesitates, because he doesn’t really know the answer, “Iwaizumi-san is Iwaizumi-san.”

“Weird,” the boy replies, but then he must be bored, because he turns back to his lunch partner, a sleepy looking boy Kageyama doesn’t remember at all. He might not even be part of his class. Uniforms make it hard to tell people apart, and Kageyama sometimes misses elementary school because of that.

It’s a fairly painless rest of day after that, and it ends as uneventfully. Kageyama is not excited with the assignments his teacher had given him at the very end of class, to help him catch up. Kageyama  _ is  _ excited to go home and help with the flower shop. On his way out, though, he hesitates at a flyer near the main office. 

_Volleyball_ _Club_

Kageyama frowns, remembering Iwaizumi-san’s words, and thinking of his lunch, and his promise. He hesitates there, in front of the billboard, until some of the older students walk by and snicker behind him. 

He rips off the flyer and stuffs it in his bag. 

* * *

Kageyama remembers why he hates school so much by Friday morning.

It happens during homeroom, the teacher distracted and the students all free to talk. Kageyama sits with his head on his desk, arms folded around him. He’s thinking about lunch, because he discovered a vending machine outside that has milk and he’s excited to get one today. 

“Kageyama-kun, what do  _ you _ think?”

He looks up, at the trio of girls nearby, “Huh?”

They snicker into their hands, and he frowns, expression hardening as he stares at them. They look a little paler for some reason, but the same girl speaks up again, undeterred, “Do you think Tachibana-sensei has a girlfriend?”

Kageyama stares at them, “Huh?”

The girl gains some courage, stepping closer to him, “Tachibana-sensei is super nice and handsome and Ai-chan wants to give him chocolates but what if he has a girlfriend already? What do you think?”

“That’s stupid,” Kageyama replies instead, “Tachibana-sensei is a grown up.”

The girl frowns at him, “She can still try if she loves him!”

“That just means she’s an idiot,” Kageyama spits back easily, ignoring the way one of the other girl’s expression falls.

“Hey!” the first girl shouts, “Don’t call her an idiot!”

“Then she should stop being such a dumbass. Why would Tachibana-sensei ever like her?”

Kageyama is shocked when the one crestfallen girl in the group starts crying. The first girl yells at him, leaning her face close to him and Kageyama flinches, pushing her away roughly because she’s  _ too close _ . She falls back hitting her arm on the neighboring desk with a scream. 

Kageyama feels his pulse quicken as he stands up too, glaring at the both of them, at all of them. Because  _ they started it _ , but there’s blood from where the girl’s elbow had hit the corner of the desk. So she gets to go to the nurse while Kageyama has to go see the principal. 

Kageyama doesn’t say anything as he sits there, morose and angry, and he’s close to blowing up completely because this is stupid. He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t do anything wrong!

Ushijima-san picks him up which is its own gift. Kageyama does not want to think about what would have happened if Oikawa-san had come. It’s too scary to consider. Ushijima-san doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask anything, just picks up his backpack for him and takes his hand. Warm, big and safe.

It’s when they’re in the flower shop and Kageyama is sitting on the high chair by the register, and Ushijma is making a bouquet that Kageyama feels words bubbling out of his chest all on his own. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he hisses.

Ushijima-san doesn’t say anything.

“She was being stupid,” he continues. 

Kageyama glares at the floor. Ushijima-san says nothing for a long while and Kageyama wonders if he’s being ignored and he isn’t sure if thats good or bad. But then Ushijima does speak, carefully picking his words, “People are like flowers, Kageyama. You must be kind to them if you ever want them to bloom.”

Kageyama doesn’t answer. He feels his chest tightening and his lip wobbling and his eyes stinging. He feels anger coursing through him because people are  _ nothing _ like flowers. Flowers are pretty and soft and don’t say stupid things or misunderstand him or get in his space. Flowers are just flowers. And that’s all they need to be. 

Ushijima-san sighs, “Go upstairs and lie down.”

Kageyama doesn’t answer and he doesn’t move, face growing hotter with anger. 

Ushijima-san looks at him, “Kageyama.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Kageyama shouts, defensively, again. 

Ushijima-san’s glare is fierce. 

Kageyama jumps off the chair and stomps up the stairs, slamming the door shut. He goes to his room, slams  _ that _ door shut for good measure and dives under his covers. It’s easier to breathe when there’s fabric over his ears and darkness around him.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because when he pokes his head out from his bed he hears multiple voices inside the apartment. He sits up, but he can’t decipher what’s happening from where he is. It’s a lot of voices all talking at once, and then there is just one voice, and many footsteps. A door opening and closing nearby and then there is silence. 

His door bursts open, and Kageyama flinches, gripping his sheets tightly in his hands like a shield.

Oikawa-san is standing at the doorway with a raised eyebrow. 

“Come here,” Oikawa-san says. 

Kageyama stares at him.

“ _ Now _ , Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san adds.

Kageyama scrambles off his bed, hurrying to where Oikawa-san is. 

Oikawa-san doesn’t acknowledge his obedience, turning away and walking back down the hall. Kageyama trudges behind him, glaring at the floor as he goes. He knows what’s coming. They’ll all sit down and talk about how bad Kageyama is and then he’ll go back to the orphanage and nothing will be different. Or worse. They’ll go into the kitchen. 

He looks up when Oikawa-san says his name again. 

One of the high chairs from the kitchen island has been pulled to the center of the living room. There’s a towel draped over the back of it. Ushijima-san and Iwaizumi-san aren’t there, or anywhere, really.

Kageyama stares up at Oikawa-san.

“Oh, don’t look so terrified,” Oikawa-san snaps. Kageyama quickly looks down. Oikawa-san rolls his eyes, “Tobio-chan, your hair is too long.”

Kageyama blinks, lifting his hand to tug at his bangs. They fall past his eyes. He hadn’t really noticed. 

“Come on,” Oikawa-san tuts, guiding him toward the sink with a firm hand on his back, “Lean forward.”

Kageyama is terrified and he feels his heart start hammering in his chest, feels his vision start to constrict like the walls of his throat.

Oikawa-san seems to notice, tone softening, hand smoothing a circle on his back, “Pick the temperature you want. I’m going to wash your hair.”

Kageyama swallows, shaky hand reaching out to play with the knobs. He makes the water cold but Oikawa-san doesn’t say anything about it as he helps Kageyama dip his head below the faucet. It’s feels like ice and it makes Kageyama physically shiver as it runs down his bare neck, and it must hurt Oikawa-san’s hands but he still doesn’t say anything. 

Oikawa-san’s fingers are soft in his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo. It’s nice. 

Oikawa-san rinses him off carefully, wrapping a towel around his head to stop him from dripping everywhere. He guides Kageyama to the chair and helps him sit down, letting the towel drop to drape around his shoulders and chest. 

Kageyama looks up at him. 

“Eyes straight ahead, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san orders. 

Kageyama obeys the simple command, hands squeezing into his palms underneath the towel. He feels the comb part his hair carefully, gliding through the black strands easily. It’s never done with any real force that could dig into his scalp. The touch justs ghosts his skin and Kageyama has the urge to close his eyes.

“Ushiwaka-chan told me you got into a fight today,” Oikawa-san says, once he picks up his scissors. 

Kageyama glares at the floor. Oikawa-san’s fingers suddenly appear on his cheeks, and they  _ are _ cold, and it startles him. Oikawa-san uses them to pick his face back up, “Straight ahead, Tobio-chan. Don’t move. I have scissors.”

Kageyama glares at the wall instead. Oikawa-san starts snipping at the hairs at the back of his neck. It tickles slightly, but not enough to warrant a real reaction.

“Why did you get into a fight?” Oikawa-san begins again. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Kageyama shouts back, and he almost whirls around in his chair for added measure. 

Oikawa-san’s hands are caging his face again from behind, “Don’t move!” Oikawa-san orders, “Just talk.”

Kageyama wants to leave but he can’t. He wants to stomp away and kick something but he can’t. He wants to slam his door shut and hide in his bed for the rest of forever but he can’t. So he sits there in silence. Oikawa-san cuts more of his hair. 

“Silence doesn’t work on me, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san remarks after a bit, “If you don’t tell me what happened I’ll have to agree with your Principle.”

“What did she tell you?!” Kageyama barks, and the sudden hands on his shoulders are the only thing that stop him from turning around.

“Stay still,” Oikawa-san repeats, “She told me it was your fault and if I don’t hear anything different than I will just have to believe her now won’t I?”

Kageyama glowers, trying his best to stay still, stiffening his posture, “They were annoying me with stupid questions. And then the girl started yelling at me and she got, she got in my face so I pushed her away. It was  _ her _ fault.”

Oikawa-san hums, snipping away, “So Tobio-chan thinks its ok to push people?”

Kageyama mumbles something under his breath and Oikawa-san nudges him so he repeats, louder, “If they deserve it.”

Oikawa-san pauses his work to let out a laugh, which Kageyama doesn’t expect. He enters his line of vision, smiling at him,  _ dangerous _ , “What a rotten thing to say, Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama’s eyes flick downward and he bites his lip. 

“Close your eyes,” Oikawa-san orders, and Kageyama obeys, squeezing them tight. He feels the scissors ghost his skin and he tries hard not to flinch. Oikawa-san cuts at his bangs. 

They’re quiet then, for the entire time Oikawa-san works on his fringe, making sure the strands are as even as possible. Kageyama wants to flinch so bad, the cold metallic scissors sometimes touching his trembling forehead, the sound of them cutting right near his ears, making his eyes twitch every so often. But eventually it’s over.

Oikawa-san pulls away when he finishes to grab the hair dryer, and Kageyama  _ does  _ flinch then. But Oikawa-san lets him pick the setting again (he goes for  _ warm _ rather than  _ hot _ ) and then Oikawa-san is combing through his hair. They don’t talk here either, the hum of the machine much too loud in both their ears to make any sort of conversation survive between them.

Oikawa-san steps away when he’s done, offering his phone’s front facing camera as a mirror. Kageyama widens at the sight of himself. He hadn’t realized how long his hair had gotten, or how it had blocked so much of his vision before. He can’t remember his last haircut, but it must have been from his mom. He decides he doesn’t really want to remember it. 

Oikawa-san moves behind him then, fluffing up his hair with his hands, and Kageyama catches him smiling through the reflection, and it’s a safe smile. Which never happens. But it drops when Oikawa-san realizes this and snatches his phone back.

Kageyama thinks this means they’re done, but Oikawa-san still has one hand on his shoulder and the other one playing with his hair.

“If you push someone again you’ll have to go to jail,” Oikawa-san finally decides. 

Kageyama flicks his head up to stare at him, “What? No!”

Oikawa-san shrugs, cruelly, “I already talked to Iwaizumi-san about it. It’s the law.”

“No, it’s not!” Kageyama yells back.

“Are you sure?” Oikawa-san grins, and it is  _ dangerous _ , “I’m a lawyer and I’ve read every law. And that’s what it said. How many laws have  _ you _ read Tobio-chan?”

Kageyama narrows his eyes.

Oikawa nudges him off the chair, “Go knock on Iwa-chan and Ushiwaka-chan’s door, tell them they’re up next. Then go eat dinner, it’s in the microwave ready to be heated up.”

Kageyama hops off the chair, a bit sour but does as he’s told. He’s not sure exactly where you read laws but he’s going to have to to see if Oikawa-san is lying or not. He guesses the library at school should have it. 

He knocks on the door to the room Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san share and relays the message through the wood. The door opens soon after, and Iwaizumi-san steps through, blinking at him and ruffling his hair, “So that’s what your eyes look like? Always wondered.”

“Don’t mess up all my hard work!” Oikawa-san calls from down the hall.

Iwaizumi-san grins and winks at Kageyama, and Kageyama doesn’t know how to react to that so he doesn’t. Kageyama tries to fix his hair back, letting his fingers claw through the strands to put them where he thinks they should go. Iwaizumi-san moves on and Ushijima-san follows wordlessly after.

Oikawa-san sends Iwaizumi-san to the sink to wash his own hair while he sweeps up Kageyama’s mess. Ushijima-san, in the meantime, helps heat up his meal, setting Kageyama up at the kitchen island with a glass of milk.  And then he takes a seat beside him. 

Oikawa-san does not cut Iwaizumi-san’s hair the same way. He’s not very quiet. He’s constantly teasing Iwaizumi-san, threatening to butcher his scalp if Iwaizumi-san dares to move again. Iwaizumi-san argues right back, telling Oikawa-san he has no qualms shaving off all his hair. 

Oikawa-san  _ whines _ at that, lamenting at how good Iwaizumi-san’s hair is and how he wastes it cutting it the way he does. 

But even though they are fighting they are not angry, Kageyama realizes, after staring at them long enough. They both keep smiling, and they’re safe smiles. And Oikawa-san’s fingers are soft on Iwaizumi-san’s head, running through the strands and massaging his scalp. Sometimes Iwaizumi-san even hums at him and Oikawa-san seems to preen at that. 

“In case you are wondering,” Ushijima-san whispers to Kageyama, making him flick his blue eyes up at him and away from the spectacle in front of him, “They are always like this.”

Kageyama looks back at the couple. Oikawa-san has gotten to Iwaizumi-san’s bangs, but Iwaizumi-san is distracting him, trying to tug him down for annoying kisses and Oikawa-san is  _ giggling, _ “Iwa-chan,  _ stop _ , do you want me to stab your eye accidentally?”

“Why?” Kageyama asks, tearing his gaze away.

Ushijima-san snorts at this, and Kageyama feels his heart swell, because he made Ushijima-san laugh, and that’s kind of cool. He’s not used to making anyone laugh, at least, not laugh  _ with _ him. Ushijima-san takes a moment to think before replying, “They love each other.”

Kageyama blinks. 

Kageyama doesn’t know a lot about love. He understands it, sort of. He’s seen it in movies and storybooks. Has heard his classmates discuss it thoroughly. He knows he’s supposed to love his dad. He knows he’s supposed to love his mom. He knows, someday, he’s supposed to love some dumb girl and get married. He just doesn’t really agree with any of it. He has a hard enough time liking people, let alone wrapping his head around  _ loving _ them. 

But he’s eleven, so he doesn’t really care either way. 

Oikawa-san finishes Iwaizumi-san’s haircut, and grabs for his hair dryer. Kageyama tries to focus on his lukewarm meal in the meantime. By the time he’s done Iwaizumi-san is running his fingers through his fluffy hair, and Oikawa-san is leaning down to say something to his ear. 

Then Iwaizumi-san has hopped out of his chair and Oikawa-san is dragging Ushijima-san to the sink. Oikawa-san washes Ushijima-san’s hair, just like Kageyama, saying something about Ushijima-san’s stiff arms and inflexibility which Ushijima-san tries to deny, but the faucet drowns him out. 

Oikawa-san cuts Ushijima-san’s hair differently too. He is much quieter and Ushijima-san doesn’t talk at all. But Oikawa-san is a lot closer too, chest practically pressed up against Ushijima-san’s broad back, lips ghosting his cheek, the top of his head, his ears. It feels intimate, and Kageyama feels weird watching. 

Iwaizumi-san notices his discomfort, smiling at him, and ruffling his hair. Kageyama shakes his head to resettle the strands. “They’re like that sometimes.” 

Kageyama finishes his plate, “Why?”

Iwaizumi smiles, nudging Kageyama’s cup of milk toward his hand, as if reminding him he should finish that too, “They love each other.”

Kageyama frowns at the same answer, for two different questions, and decides maybe he doesn’t know what love is at all. Because, from what he’s gathering, love can mean just about anything. 

“What do you want to do tomorrow, Kageyama?” Iwaizumi-san asks, quietly. 

Kageyama blinks, and then shrugs his shoulders. He was excited to spend the day at the flower shop downstairs, but he doesn’t feel like that’s the answer Iwaizumi wants. 

“I need to go to mom’s to give her back her figurine at some point this weekend,” Oikawa-san cuts in the reminder, as he brushes Ushijima-san’s hair neatly under the hairdryer. 

“That can wait a little longer,” Iwaizumi replies, “We still haven’t gotten him his stuff.”

Oikawa frowns, but doesn’t reply. Kageyama squirms a little in his seat. 

“Well, is there anything you want to do?” Iwaizumi-san asks him again. 

Kageyama feels his shoulders rising up as he shrinks into himself. He doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what Iwaizumi-san wants him to say. 

“You’re making him anxious, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa snaps, bluntly. 

Iwaizumi-san pulls back immediately, and Kageyama feels the tension leave his body and his ability to breathe return to him. He blinks at Oikawa-san, owlishly, trying to remember the magic word he had just used. He doesn’t remember ever hearing it before. 

“Think about it, no pressure,” Iwaizumi-san adds, quickly, getting up completely, “Whatever you want, we can see what we can do.”

Kageyama gives Iwaizumi-san a nod to appease him. He stands up to, fingers twisting in his hands, and wonders if this means he can go back to his room now. He moves to do so when Oikawa-san’s piercing gaze stops him in his tracks.

“Tobio-chan? You’re just going to leave your dirty dishes on the counter?” 

Kageyama frowns, feet trudging back to his spot and grabbing his dishware to put in his sink. He can feel Oikawa-san’s eyeroll, and it makes his ears burn even brighter as he scurries back into his room to his bed. 

Kageyama can not wrap his head around Oikawa-san, with his quicksilver smiles, his understanding tone, and his cruel statements, all wrapped into one person, that Kageyama never knows where he stands. Never knows if he wants to glare at the floor in shame or look up in awe and wonder, and it makes his insides rattle within him. 

Oikawa-san is  _ terrifying _ . 

* * *

Kageyama never decides what he wants to do. So Oikawa-san decides for him that Kageyama should really get some new clothes. Kageyama hasn’t gotten new clothes in a long time, well, outside of his uniforms for school, so he isn’t upset about this. There is a twinge of worry, fingers curling in on themselves, at the thought of spending the day  _ just _ with Oikawa-san, but luckily Ushijima-san and Iwaizumi-san all pile into the car with them.

Malls have always made Kageyama uncomfortable. They’re loud and crowded, with people pushing into him to get from one place to another. But this time Ushijima-san holds his hand through the corridor, and Iwaizumi-san walks on his other side, and no one else bumps into Kageyama with this added buffer. So it isn’t so bad. 

Oikawa-san leads them into a clothing store, and Kageyama remembers how much clothes bore him. Iwaizumi-san looks like he feels the same, because he immediately sits down in the nearest chair. Kageyama wants to join him.

“What’s your favorite color?” Oikawa-san asks, pulling Kageyama’s gaze back toward him.

Kageyama has to think for a moment, which has Oikawa-san tapping his foot, which makes Kageyama stuff his hands in his pocket so he can squeeze the inside fabric tight.

“Orange?” Ushijima-san offers. 

And Kageyama nods instinctively, but then, when Oikawa-san turns away he barks out, “No, blue!”

Oikawa-san doesn’t respond, just starts going through the clothing wracks. Ushijima-san nudges Kageyama’s back to follow him, but Kageyama doesn’t know what to look at. 

“Tobio-chan, heel!” Oikawa-san calls, and it unsticks Kageyama’s shoes from the floor, having him scurry to the tall man. 

Oikawa-san starts holding different long sleeve shirts up to his chest, squinting his eyes critically. Kageyama blinks up at him. 

“You don’t want short sleeves, right?” Oikawa-san asks.

Kageyama nods his head quickly.

“It’s winter soon anyway,” Oikawa-san mutters, putting away a short sleeve contender. 

Oikawa-san picks out five long sleeve shirts, two pants, a pajama with crows stitched on that Kageyama had been obviously staring at, and a hoodie. He ushers Kageyama into a changing room, asks him to try on just one of the shirts and pants to confirm his guess about his size. 

Kageyama steps out of the dressing room, tugging at the bottom hem of the shirt with his fidgeting fingers. Oikawa-san crouches down to examine him better, playing with the collar, fixing the sleeves, and flicking Kageyama’s hair this way and that. 

When he pulls back Oikawa-san smiles, and it is  _ safe,  _ and Kageyama can’t help but stare. 

“You can look so cute sometimes, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san actually  _ coos _ , “Thanks to my expertise of course.”

Kageyama wants to say something, but Oikawa-san has already turned away to grab Ushijima-san’s attention. Kageyama nibbles at his pursed lip. 

He changes back into his old clothes, and Iwaizumi-san pays for it all. Kageyama thinks they’re done, but Iwaizumi-san is leading them toward the cafeteria within, and this place is even  _ more _ crowded. Kageyama finds himself gripping tightly to Ushijima-san’s shirt, trying to melt into him. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa-san, shouts, suddenly, pointing. 

And Kageyama doesn’t really know what that means, but Iwaizumi-san does, tearing away from the group to zig zag through the crowded tables. He practically flings himself a top the only empty four person table, dumping their purchases in the chairs and taking a triumphant seat. 

Oikawa-san is giggling into his hand. 

Ushijima-san nudges Kageyama so that he looks at him, “Is there anything you would prefer to eat?”

Kageyama doesn’t know. 

Oikawa-san waves him off, “We’ll get something with rice and meat, and a lot of it,” he then looks at Kageyama, “Don’t wander off. Stick to Ushiwaka-chan.”

Kageyama frowns, wanting to huff that he hasn’t tried to wander off at all, and he  _ knows _ that, because he’s not  _ stupid _ but Oikawa-san has already turned away. 

Eventually, Oikawa-san is giving Ushijima-san a tray of food to hold. And then he is giving Kageyama his own tray to balance, “Time to pull your weight, Tobio-chan,” he orders.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima-san says, and he says it like a warning.

Oikawa-san rolls his eyes and moves away through the crowd. Ushijima-san follows him and Kageyama quickens his pace to keep up. He can’t hold Ushijima-san’s hand because of the tray, but he has to watch the tray so it doesn’t spill. And there are so many people and Kageyama can feel himself shrinking inward, the weight of everything starting to pile on his shoulders, the noise doubling within his ears into a cacophony until his feet just stop. His grip on the tray tightens, and he feels himself crouching, curling in over the food. 

Someone takes the tray out of his hands and he looks up to see Ushijima-san. 

“Are you alright?”

Kageyama doesn’t know.

“Our table is right there,” Ushijima-san says, flicking his head to the left. Two tables down he sees Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san seated across from each other. 

Kageyama follows Ushijima-san, seating himself beside Iwaizumi san at the table. It takes him a minute to collect himself, but once he does, hunger hits him hard. He stuffs his face, his chopsticks moving in a flurry. Oikawa-san is horrified, but Kageyama doesn’t really care in the moment, especially as Iwaizumi-san laughs beside him.

“You’re  _ encouraging _ him,” Oikawa-san snaps.

“Growing boys need to eat,” Iwaizumi-san counters, ruffling Kageyama’s hair.

Ushijima-san silently offers Kageyama a napkin, and lunch is nice. It’s nice to listen as Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san and Ushijima-san talk and argue and laugh and poke fun.It’s nice he can just listen for a bit, with the excuse of food to occupy his mouth. And he can almost forget the strangers surrounding them.

Kageyama thinks about how two weeks ago he ate by himself everyday in the orphanage. And it wasn’t awful, but it also wasn’t this. He’s still not entirely sure what this all means, if this is forever, or just for another week and he’ll be sent back. He’s not even sure what forever even means. Nothing had ever lasted for long. 

On the way home, Kageyama sees a field of sunflowers. His insides rust at the sight, curdling and spoiled, rolling with one another until he clutches at his stomach and does his best to hold it all in. 

Nothing lasts long at all. 

“You ok, there?” Iwaizumi-san asks, from his seat beside him. 

“I’m fine!” Kageyama snaps, flushing a bit and trying to sit up, “I’m fine!”

“If he vomits in my car, I swear to God,” he can hear Oikawa-san mutter from the driver’s seat. 

Iwaizumi-san kicks the back of his chair in warning, eliciting a whine. Oikawa-san keeps driving normally regardless. Kageyama wishes this was enough to distract his wandering thoughts, but it’s  _ not _ , and he pulls at his fingers, clenching and unclenching them. He wants the day to end more than anything.

By the time they reach the flower shop and the door is unlocked, Kageyama bolts. He races up the steps and to his bedroom. Closing the door and trying to take a breath. He clutches at his sides tightly and tries not to think about anything. 

Before he can dive into his bed he sees the flowers on his desk and it makes him  _ ache _ . And then he realizes they’re drooping, and the panic festering in his gut crescendos outward into an action he can understand. He can fix. He can  _ do.  _

He leaps toward the vase, grabbing it and wrenching his door open. He races down the hall, ignoring the concerned call from Iwaizumi-san in favor of entering the kitchen. He turns the faucet on, nice and cold, and lets it flow into the vase, biting his lip in concentration. He pulls the vase back when he’s done, getting some water to drip down its side accidentally. 

He mutters under his breath, putting the vase down on the island, and then grabs at the spool of paper towels. With an adequate handful he hops onto the high top chair, using the wad of paper to dry his little mess. When he decides it’s enough, and his heart doesn’t feel like it will fall out of his chest at any moment, he nods and shoves the used up paper towels out of the way.

The thing is, when he does this, he does not take notice of what else is on the kitchen island, until he jumps in his seat at the sound of a loud  _ crash. _

The three adults suddenly appear in the kitchen area, different faces of concern, and Kageyama doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, frozen in his seat with wide fearful eyes. 

He doesn’t start hyperventilating until he sees Oikawa-san start screaming as he falls to the floor. 

Kageyama Tobio is eleven years old when he has his first real panic attack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you kageyama would become important
> 
> happy new year everyone!!!!
> 
> i hope you enjoy. Its my first time writing from kageyamas perspective ever so i hope i did our boy justice. thanks for all your sweet comments, they mean the world to me.
> 
> until next time


	6. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa can’t put it to words himself, but he shouldn’t have to. Because Iwaizumi is always suppose to just get him. To look into his eyes and make sense of the trouble rocking through Oikawa’s head. But his green eyes are blank here, and it kills Oikawa. It kills him more than anything else.

It’s a blur, honestly, to Oikawa. One moment he’s watching his mother’s priceless figurine smash into a billion pieces, the next he’s on the floor cutting his fingers on the shards as he grasps at them, and then he’s in the air hoisted up by Ushijima’s strong arms. And then he’s gone.

Ushijima deposits Oikawa on his bed and quickly works to get Oikawa’s fingers to unclench around the shards they’re still gripping. Oikawa tries to pull his arms back instinctively but Ushijima’s voice is stern, “You're bleeding.”

Oikawa lets out a hitched gasp and lets his fingers uncurl, the red stained porcelain falling to the bed beside him.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says, quietly, “I need you to take a deep breath.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Oikawa hisses through his clenched teeth instead, slimy fingers squeezing into his empty palms.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says again, and it’s even sterner and Oikawa grits his teeth. He knows what Ushijima is going to say. That Kageyama is a child, an abused child, and that it was clearly an accident. And Oikawa _knows_ he’s right, absolutely right. But that does not change the burning in his heart, the anxiety festering in the pits of his stomach, the fact that his _mother is going to blow up_ , _his sister is going to blow up_ and he’s going to have to pick up all those damn pieces all over again. Again, and again, and again.

And he doesn’t want to do it anymore.

He _can’t_ do it anymore.

Oikawa takes in a shuddering breath and feels tears slip down his face without his permission and he _hates_ it.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says again, and his hands are warm on his upper arms and Oikawa feels himself naturally tipping over, searching for the warmth of his partner’s trunk of a chest, and he braces himself for the inevitable lecture. Instead, he gets, “You’re bleeding. I’ll be back with bandages.”

Oikawa blinks, and there’s the ghost of a laugh at the tip of his heaving lips because _of_ _course_ that’s what Ushijima would say. Ever the pragmatic. Solution minded. Adorable. Unbearable.

He loves him.

Ushijima leaves Oikawa then, shutting the door behind him quietly. Before he heads to the bathroom in search of bandages he pokes his head over to the kitchen.

It is much worse here.

“Kageyama, you need to breath for me, it’s ok, I just need you to breathe for me,” Iwaizumi is murmuring, quietly, fingers holding onto Kageyama’s shaking hands.

Kageyama is shaking his head, eyes blown wide, body shuddering with every quick choked heave that passes through his lips. He’s trying to talk, and it’s garbled, mouth flooded with tears and saliva and the uncontrollable quiver of his lips.

Ushijima finds himself beside Iwaizumi in seconds, heart aching and he tries to think. Because what Iwaizumi is doing is not working. But Iwaizumi is doing what they always do, when something like this happens with Oikawa. Get him to breathe, get him to focus, get him to relax.

Kageyama can not even begin to stop.

“Hajime,” Ushijima murmurs, breaking Iwaizumi’s desperate concentration to look at him, “Can you go bandage Oikawa’s hands?”

Iwaizumi takes a second to process the request before nodding, mind distant, standing up from his knees and stepping away.

Now that Ushijima is closer, he can decipher Kageyama’s desperate chant of, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_.” It’s all muddled though, and the poor boy won’t stop shaking. Can’t stop shaking.

Ushijima puts his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders, getting the boy to stare at him, “Kageyama,” he says, and then he realizes he doesn’t really know where he’s going with this. He knows what he wants to do, what he thinks we’ll help, so maybe he should just bulldoze right through, “I am going to hold you.”

Kageyama is still hyperventilating, staring at him with wide confused eyes. Ushijima tugs him closer, pushing the boy into his chest and holding him tightly, surrounding him completely as best he can.

Kageyama sinks into him, and he’s still breathing too quickly, choking on the fabric of his shirt, but his fingers are digging into his chest, and Ushijima thinks it might just be best to have the boy tire himself out.

He flicks his gaze back over to the hallway.

Iwaizumi had gone to fetch the first aid kit from their bathroom before slipping into Oikawa’s bedroom. He finds his boyfriend sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down on the ground. His mouth is moving, most likely counting, which is good.

Iwaizumi kneels down in front of him. Oikawa blinks at his appearance but Iwaizumi doesn’t offer any explanation. Instead, he takes Oikawa’s curled up hand, prompting it to open. He wipes away at the drying blood, shushing softly at the little winces and gasps Oikawa lets out when he goes over the cuts with disinfectant.

He works quietly, wrapping up the cuts around Oikawa’s long fingers, bringing them close to give them a little kiss out of habit. Oikawa smiles at him and Iwaizumi sighs.

“Are you ok?” Iwaizumi asks and he laces their fingers as he speaks.

“No,” Oikawa responds back, “She’s going to kill me.”

Iwaizumi snorts, but he squeezes the other’s hand all the same, not trusting his words to come out like he wants them to.

Oikawa appreciates it.

He’s tired. A headache is festering above his eye and he had promised to go to the office in the morning. He moves to lay back, so he can lay down on the bed but Iwaizumi stops him, hesitantly.

“What?” Oikawa sighs, squinting up at him.

Iwaizumi frowns, fingers still squeezing Oikawa’s hand, “Kageyama isn’t...he’s not, he’s not calming down.” Iwaizumi swallows, “I was, was wondering if you could, talk to him?”

“He broke my mom’s figurine, Hajime,” Oikawa snaps back, and there’s more bite to his tone than he honestly means, but he can’t help it. He’s still raw on the inside. Cut up and torn to shreds.

Iwaizumi frowns at him, “It was an accident. He didn’t mean it. You know that.”

Yes, Oikawa _does_ know that, but that doesn’t make the anger go away. It still boils inside his guts, wishing to escape through his fingers, steam rising up his veins and coming out his ears. The amount of damage control he is going to have to do after this is enough to wish himself to an early grave. He doesn’t have the _time_ for this, the _energy_ for this, the _will_ for this.

He’s drained. His parents have drained him. His sister has drained him. _Kageyama_ has drained him. And all that is left is a mess of limbs, a knot of furious anger and an all encompassing depression that ties him to this very bed.

How does Iwaizumi not get that?

Oikawa can’t put it to words himself, but he shouldn’t have to. Because Iwaizumi is always suppose to just get him. To look into his eyes and make sense of the trouble rocking through Oikawa’s head. But his green eyes are blank here, and it kills Oikawa. It kills him more than anything else.

Oikawa pulls his hand away and curls up on his bed, “If I look at him I will murder him,” Oikawa says instead, and the bite in his voice returns, accentuated by how hoarse it sounds coming from his raw throat.

“Oikawa--”

“Hajime,” Oikawa interrupts, eyes steely even when red and puffed at the rims, “ _Don’t.”_

He tugs the covers over his head, ending the debate.  

There’s a long period of silence before Oikawa hears his bedroom door close. He curls up tighter in on himself, so tight that he takes up no space at all, so that he just disappears completely.

Outside, Iwaizumi finds Ushijima sitting on the floor, back against the kitchen island and a shuddering Kageyama pressed against him. Ushijima looks up at him. Iwaizumi frowns, turning away to grab the dustpan and sweep up the remaining shards from the floor before he forgets. Once that’s cleaned up he crouches by Ushijima.

“His breathing is still erratic, but he has stopped muttering,” Ushijima whispers.

Iwaizumi lets his fingers run along Kageyama’s sweaty black hair. He can’t see the boy’s face but he can feel his trembling even from his ghosted touch. He pulls his hand away to squeeze his fingers into a fist.

“Can you carry him to his bed?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima nods, carefully standing up with the boy secure in his arms. Iwaizumi pours some water in a cup before following him into Kageyama’s dark room.

Ushijima pries Kageyama from his chest carefully, helping him lay down on the bed. Kageyama stares up at him, choking on wet hiccups.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi murmurs, “Can you drink this for me?”

Kageyama takes the cup, sniveling, and gulps it down greedily. The action quiets down his hiccuping, and it makes it better, if only by a little.

“I didn’t mean to,” Kageyama whimpers, when he finishes the cup, and the statement births a fresh set of tears at his eyes.

Iwaizumi wipes them off with his hand, clenching his teeth when the boy flinches underneath him, “It was an accident,” he assures, insists.

Kageyama is still trembling, and it looks like he might fall right back into his panic. Iwaizumi tucks him in, hopes the pressure of the blanket around his chest helps him, “Kageyama, just rest alright? Ushiwaka and I are right outside if you need us.” Iwaizumi says this, and it implies he’s leaving, but he lingers. He watches how Kageyama keeps hiccuping under the covers he has clenched tight under his fingers, how his eyes are squeezed shut but he can still see the dewey shine of fresh tears on his cheeks.

Ushijima’s touch on his shoulders is what gets him to leave, guiding him out of the room and back into the lit up hallway. Ushijima’s hands don’t leave him, directing him to sit down on the couch and following right after him.

“Breathe, Iwaizumi,” Ushijima whispers, palm flat on his back and warm.

Iwaizumi blinks and obeys, not realizing he had been holding his breath this whole time. He lets out a long exhale, feeling his shoulders loosen with the release of tension.

“This too will pass,” Ushijima murmurs, arm wrapping around his shoulder to bring Iwaizumi closer. Iwaizumi melts a little, pressing his face into his boyfriend’s chest. 

“Seeing him like that, like, God, Ushijima, he’s just a _kid_ ,” Iwaizumi insists, and he feels anger start to build in his veins, tightening his fists, “No kid should, should be feeling all that, should be, should be reacting like that.”

“Life has not been easy for him,” Ushijima agrees.

“I don’t, I don’t ever want to see him like that again, Ushiwaka,” Iwaizumi continues, insistent, fingers digging into his palms, and he wants to hit something so bad but he wont, “We gotta, we have to help him. God, did you see him? He wouldn’t stop shaking. And he looked so scared, scared to death. Like he thought, like he thought he was going to die. Like he thought we were going to kill him.”

Ushijima squeezes his shoulders tighter.

“How could anyone hurt that kid,” Iwaizumi hisses, fury mounting, “How could his _mother_ hurt him? It just, it makes me so fucking sick, Ushiwaka, and now, and now Kageyama has to deal with the consequences by himself.”

“Not by himself,” Ushijima cuts in, “He has us.”

Iwaizumi presses his palms into his eyes, as if that will push the anger back inside himself. He swallows down the inkling of fear, that nagging thought, that they’re not helping at all, that they’re making it worse, somehow.

Ushijima pulls him closer, wrapping his arms tighter around him. Iwaizumi wipes at his eye with the back of his hand. Ushijima takes the wrist in his own hand, bringing it up to press a soft kiss to the heel of his palm. Iwaizumi tries to swallow down his smile.

They stay like that a long time, laying ontop of one another, quiet but together. Iwaizumi figures they must have fallen asleep at some point, because he remembers waking up briefly to a blanket covering him and a snoring Ushijima at some point in the middle of the night.

He’s too tired to really dwell on it.

* * *

Kageyama blinks his eyes open blearily. He feels heavy, a tiredness he’s never felt weighing down all of his limbs. It’s dark in his room, and the window to his right still shows a starry sky.

“Go back to sleep,” a soft voice murmurs and it would have startled Kageyama if he wasn’t so sleepy. Instead, he flicks his semi closed eyes to the dark shape sitting at the end of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama whispers, because he’s not sure what else to say. It just comes out with his breath, as innate as it.

The dark shape strokes his leg through the blanket, and it’s not awful, Kageyama thinks distantly. He closes his eyes again and sinks into his pillow.

He dreams of sunflowers and hydrangeas and azaleas, and when he dreams he can’t force down his small smile.

* * *

Iwaizumi nudges Kageyama awake by carding his fingers through his hair. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the boy awakens. Blue eyes peek out from heavy lids to blink up at him.

Iwaizumi smiles down.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi greets, “Good morning, Kageyama.”

Kageyama lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, squirming away from Iwaizumi’s touch to sit up. He rests his back against the headboard, yawning wide and open mouthed.

Iwaizumi can’t help the snort that comes out of him.

“Goo’ morning,” Kageyama mutters sleepily.

“I brought you some milk,” Iwaizumi continues, raising the glass in his hand.

Kageyama blinks, eyes finally glinting with awakeness. He takes the offering in both hands, sipping at the drink.

Iwaizumi sits down on the edge of the bed, and he doesn’t try to dwell on how Kageyama’s legs draw up instinctively away from him.

“I was thinking,” Iwaizumi says, “We could go to the park together, today.”

Kageyama’s fingers tense around the glass, mouth souring.

“Just the two of us,” Iwaizumi adds.

Kageyama visibly relaxes, blinking up at him owlishly, “Oh,” he mumbles, “Why?”

Iwaizumi’s smile cracks open to show teeth, “Sundays are when I go for my morning run. It’s lonely though, thought I could use some good company.”

Kageyama blinks, lowering the cup from his face. He’d never really thought of himself as good company. He squeezes the cup in his hand and looks down at his blanketed lap. He doesn’t want to disappoint Iwaizumi-san, “I’ll go.”

Iwaizumi grins, and he ruffles Kageyama’s hair and the boy doesn’t tense as much, “Let’s leave in fifteen. Go get dressed. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

Kageyama gulps down his milk as soon as Iwaizumi leaves his room so he can get ready. Once he’s dressed he finds Iwaizumi putting two bottles of water in his drawstring bag.

“You good?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kageyama nods and Iwaizumi leads the way out of the apartment and into the brisk autumn air.

Kageyama has never gone on a run before. Not like this at least. He was used to wandering around the city back when he was bored of the orphanage, but he’d never run with a purpose like this. Iwaizumi-san has a route it seems, leading the way as they jog down certain streets and pathways, pausing to run in place at stoplights.

Kageyama likes running. He likes the wind in his hair and on his face, likes the feeling of _doing_ something, of expending the energy always festering in his limbs without having to think.

Kageyama likes the silence most of all. Iwaizumi-san doesn’t talk to him, and Kageyama isn’t expected to speak either. There’s no pressure. He doesn’t have to pay attention to Iwaizumi-san’s face or his words. He just has to look straight ahead and not trip. It’s easy. It’s nice.

He likes running with Iwaizumi-san.

They eventually turn and make it to the park and Kageyama likes this even _more_. Because now as they run the perimeter there are trees to look at and flowers and Kageyama tries to see if he can name any of them in his head as he passes them by.

They do a loop of the park before Iwaizumi stops. Out of habit now Kageyama keeps jogging in place until he realizes Iwaizumi-san has _stopped_ , so he does to.

Iwaizumi breathes heavily, swiping some sweat off his forehead as he peers over at him, “And here I thought I’d have to go easy on you.”

Kageyama blinks at him.

Iwaizumi smiles, “Let’s sit over there for a bit. I need a minute.”

Kageyama nods and sits down obediently, watching the bench dip slightly when Iwaizumi-san sinks into it. Iwaizumi digs into his drawstring bag, offering Kageyama a bottle of water before uncapping his own.

Kageyama doesn’t realize how thirsty he is until he takes his first sip. His eyes widen and he gulps down the liquid, sucking it down his parched throat.

“Take it easy, Kags. Don’t choke!” Iwaizumi cautions quickly, and Kageyama briefly fears he’s angry but shakes the thought away when he notices Iwaizumi is grinning at him.

Kageyama pulls the bottle away from his mouth, wiping at the water dripping down his chin.

“Did you really finish that whole bottle already?” Iwaizumi laughs, and Kageyama feels himself reddening. He looks down at the bottle and sees that it is, definitely, empty.

Iwaizumi squeezes his shoulder, “Here, if you need more there’s a fountain right over there.”

Kageyama nods in understanding, but he doesn’t want to get up. Now that he’s sitting he can feel the thrum in his calves and thighs.

Iwaizumi doesn’t question him and Kageyama likes that.

Kageyama takes in the park around him. He’d never been to it before. It’s nice. Green grass and colorful trees. There’s a stone path cutting through it and his feet twitch on it where they rest, tempted to crush the fallen leaves. There’s a fountain in the center, and even though morning will soon ebb into the afternoon it's fairly deserted. He likes it.

He’s not sure how long they sit in silence together, but it’s long enough for Kageyama to start swinging his legs idly and pick at the wood beneath him.

Iwaizumi speaks up first, “How’s school been?”

Kageyama freezes, eyes glueing themselves to the cracks in the stone beneath his feet. He sees a worm wiggling toward one, pink and sluggish.

“We don’t have to talk about Friday,” Iwaizumi assures, but Kageyama still feels tense, knees squeezing together. He shrugs.

“Do you like your classmates?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kageyama shrugs.

“Any friends yet?”

Kageyama shakes his head.

Iwaizumi swallows, and he asks the question he’s been desperate to ask for weeks, “Any friends...at all?”

Kageyama blinks and shrugs.

“What about at your old school?” Iwaizumi probes further.

Kageyama shakes his head.

Iwaizumi frowns, taking another sip of his water. No good. Kageyama needs friends. He wonders if he’d been kept isolated on purpose. If this was just another piece to his ever forming puzzle.

“So, no friends ever?”

Kageyama swallows because he doesn’t want to disappoint Iwaizumi-san and it's clear that he is at the moment. A memory flashes in his mind and his fingers squeeze the end of the wooden bench. He leans forward a little, as if trying to get a closer look at the worm. Words bubble out of his mouth without permission, “There was a neighbor, once.”

Iwaizumi’s interest peaks and he latches on, “A neighbor?”

Kageyama keeps his face forward and nods seriously, “He lived next door. His ball would always end up in my yard and I would throw it back.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, and Kageyama thinks he’s still disappointed.

So he forces himself to keep going, “Sometimes he would talk to me, through the fence. He was really dumb.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “How so?”

Kageyama glowers, kicking at the stone beneath him, careful not to hit the worm, “He was always losing his ball and asking for it back. I told him not to throw it and he would laugh and say it was an accident but it happened all the time. He was so stupid. One time he tried to climb the fence even though I told him not to and he broke his arm, I think. Or that’s what he said but he laughed when he said it so I don’t know. He was so stupid.”

Iwaizumi smiles beside him and Kageyama feels more words burbling out of his chest, “His family had sunflowers in his yard but I could only see the tops of them and so he said he would pass one through the fence but all he did was rip the petals off and shove them through the gaps and I got so angry because he killed! the flower! He was so stupid.”

Iwaizumi-san rests a hand on his back and it’s only then that Kageyama realizes he’s shaking. He sucks in a breath, but the words keep pouring out, “One time he came to my door even though I told him not to and he knocked but Mom told him to go and then I couldn’t be in the backyard alone for a longtime and, and, and.”

Kageyama wipes at his face and he feels stupid for crying, especially outside and _especially_ in front of Iwaizumi-san. But Iwaizumi-san doesn’t say anything, and the hand on his back isn’t heavy it’s _warm_ and it helps.

He swallows and finishes, “He moved away.”

Iwaizumi gives him his water bottle and Kageyama drinks it even though he thinks it’s kind of gross to share a bottle with Iwaizumi. But he doesn’t want to talk anymore, saliva choking up his throat so he doesn’t say anything at all.

They’re quiet again for a long time. Kageyama eventually leans back and stares up at the sky. He squints from the sun, slowly making its way above him, and watches the clouds pass him by.

“Are you hungry?” Iwaizumi asks him, and Kageyama is grateful he doesn’t bring up what just happened.

Kageyama thinks a moment before nodding and Iwaizumi smiles at him. “Go refill our bottles over there,” he orders, motioning to the fountain.

Kageyama hops off the bench obediently and takes the bottles, jogging up to the fountain and doing his best to fill them all the way up. He only gets a little bit on his shirt and he’s proud of that. When he returns to the bench he finds Iwaizumi has pulled out two little bentos from his bag.

Kageyama exchanges a bottle for a bento and sits down on the bench. He opens the top to see two little bunnies made of rice looking up at him. He looks over at Iwaizumi, who is already digging into his meal.

Kageyama hesitates, “Why do you do this?”

Iwaizumi pauses, “Do what? Eat? We have to or else we’ll die, Kageyama.”

Kageyama glowers, “I know _that_ , I’m not stupid,” he mutters, “I meant the, the putting faces on food thing.”

Iwaizumi wipes some grains of rice from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, “Force of habit,” he replies, “Oikawa made me do it when we were first dating and it stuck around. Why? Do you not like it?”

Kageyama purses his lips, “I like it,” he huffs before digging his chopsticks in to shove the food into his mouth.

Iwaizumi smiles at him.

After Kageyama has successfully stuffed as much food as he can fit into his mouth and swallowed, he speaks up again, “Are you and Oikawa-san married?”

Iwaizumi coughs on the water he’s drinking and takes a moment to breathe again, “No, Oikawa and I aren’t married.”

“Are you and Ush--”

“No, Ushijima and I aren’t married.”

Kageyama frowns, stabbing his chopsticks into his rice, “I don’t get it.”

Iwaizumi sighs, hand coming up to comb one of Kageyama’s stray strands behind his ear. Kageyama squeezes his eyes shut, but doesn’t flinch beside that, “I was wondering when you would ask. ”

Kageyama blinks at him.

Iwaizumi-san’s smile looks sad to Kageyama as he talks and he doesn't like it, “I love Oikawa and Ushijima a lot. And they love me. But we’re not really allowed to get married. At least not right now.”

“Why not?” Kageyama asks.

“A lot of reasons, honestly,” Iwaizumi chuckles. He lets out another sigh despite the forced smile on his lips, “Don’t worry about it.”

Kageyama frowns but drops the subject in favor of another burning question, “So, are you my dad now?”

Iwaizumi does choke this time, and Kageyama worries he might have said something wrong, and he starts wondering why he’s talking so much in the first place. But Iwaizumi recovers, and he laughs, “How about we just go with Uncle for now?”

Kageyama nods slowly, filing that away for later, “Is Ushijima my uncle too?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi decides, “Oikawa too.”

“Oikawa-san hates me,” Kageyama argues glumly.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “He does not.”

Kageyama bites his lip, hard, “I broke his cat. And he yells at me. And he hates me.”

Iwaizumi-san frowns and stands up suddenly, and before Kageyama can look up the man is kneeling down in front of him. It startles Kageyama but he manages to keep ahold of his bento regardless.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi says carefully, “Oikawa-san is, he’s...He’s upset right now, but it isn’t your fault.”

Kageyama doesn’t believe him, “Why is he upset then?”

Iwaizumi grimaces, “Oikawa’s mom and dad are...separating. And he’s dealing with that right now.”

Kageyama blinks in recognition, “Oh. Ok.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, “You understand?”

Kageyama nods, “I’m not stupid, Iwaizumi-san. I know what divorce is.”

Iwaizumi is taken aback, “You do?”

“Mom left Dad a long time ago,” Kageyama continues with a shrug, “It happens,” he stands up, “Are we going home now?”

Iwaizumi stares at him before he shakes himself off, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we can go home now.”

Kageyama nods, stuffing their bottles and bento boxes back into the bag and insisting on carrying it himself. Iwaizumi lets him, still a bit winded from his words but he supposes the boy is right.

It happens.

* * *

Kageyama doesn’t talk when he returns to school and for the most part he is ignored. The girls whisper around him but he doesn’t really care. One of them still has a bandaid on her elbow. He doesn’t think about it.

He keeps his gaze on the window and lets himself fade into the background. He does his homework as best he can manage, and his grades are okay because passing is fine. He can’t be bothered with much else.

He’s preoccupied.

He wants Oikawa-san to like him.

Oikawa-san had not spoken to him since he’d broken his cat. Kageyama hadn’t spoken to him either, but that was because Oikawa-san is scary. It’s hard to apologize to someone so terrifying, especially when the word sorry doesn’t really fix anything at all.

Kageyama shakes his head.

Oikawa-san is _not_ scary, he tells himself. Oikawa-san is upset because of his mom and dad. Kageyama can get that. Kageyama used to be upset about his mom and dad all the time, and everyone thought he was scary, but he wasn’t. It makes sense.

Oikawa-san is _not_ scary, he writes in his notebook for good measure. Maybe it will help him remember better.

“Kageyama.”

Kageyama startles, staring up at Tachibana-sensei’s face right near his. He rears back, looks around the room to find it empty. He blinks.

“Class ended ten minutes ago,” Tachibana-sensei explains.

“Sorry,” Kageyama mutters under his breath, standing up.

Tachibana-sensei waves his hand dismissively, “Kageyama, have you joined a club yet?”

Kageyama squeezes the strap of his backpack tightly in his hand and shakes his head.

“Have you thought about it?”

Kageyama hesitates then shakes his head.

“You should,” Tachibana continues, “They’re fun. I’m the swimming club’s advisor. Do you like swimming?”

Kageyama isn’t sure if he likes swimming because he’s never learned how. He doesn’t really want to either. Why would anyone _want_ to be inside water if they could choose not to be? It didn't make sense to him. So he shakes his head. Tachibana-sensei doesn’t seem disappointed but then again he’s never really seen Tachibana-sensei without his warm smile.

Tachibana-sensei is very tall, with brown hair and green eyes, and he kind of looks like a tree to Kageyama, and he likes that.

“Kageyama,” Tachibana-sensei continues, “Can you try out a club this week for me? You don’t have to join it, but go try one out and tell me about it. Does that sound ok?”

Kageyama licks his lips and nods once because he doesn’t want to talk to Tachibana-sensei anymore and he knows that will be the fastest way out of the classroom. Tachibana-sensei smiles wider and gives his own nod before leaving him for his big teacher desk.

Kageyama scurries out after that. He’d been huggin his backpack to his chest so he pauses to resettle it properly on his back, squeezing the straps by his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and starts walking properly again, down the empty hallway.

He passes the gym as he goes out and he hears the squeaking of sneakers on polished wood and the thumping of balls slamming into the ground. He bites his lip before circling back and peering through the window on the door.

The boy’s volleyball team is practicing. He recognizes a few of his classmates running around the gym.

He watches as they do drills, running up and down the gym. He watches as they break off into pairs to practice passing the ball to each other. He watches as the older kids hit balls over the net and onto the other side.

He thinks of a wooden fence, grubby fingers and fire orange hair peeking through the gaps. And he thinks of passing the ball up and over, up and over, for a thousand times.

Kageyama ends up watching the boy’s volleyball team for a long time.

Ushijima asks him where he was when he finally gets home. Kageyama asks him if he knows what volleyball is.

Ushijima smiles.

* * *

It started as Ushijima’s idea.

Kageyama is struggling to do homework at the kitchen island, frowning severely as he attacks his math sheet with his eraser. Iwaizumi hovers by the sink, cleaning the same dish over and over again, waiting for the right moment to step in and offer help.

Oikawa is locked away at the desk in his bedroom, pouring over the legal documents for his new case, as he has been the past few days.

Ushijima takes this moment to bring out the plastic bag with the remnants of Oikawa’s mother’s cat figurine. He puts it atop the island, successfully grabbing both Kageyama’s and Iwaizumi’s attention.

Ushijima pulls out the super glue.

Kageyama’s eyes light up and he sits up, leaning over to watch Ushijima, “Are you fixing it?”

“I am attempting to,” Ushijima replies.

Iwaizumi turns off the faucet.

“Can I help?” Kageyama asks, fingers twitching.

“Don’t cut yourself,” Iwaizumi warns, worriedly.

“I won’t!” Kageyama shouts.

“Tell me which pieces go where and I’ll put them together,” Ushijma concedes.

Kageyama nods eagerly, shifting in his seat so he rests on his knees and can put his forearms on the countertop. He slides his papers away and Iwaizumi lunges forward to catch his binder before it can clatter to the floor.

Kageyama doesn’t even notice he is so focused on the shards spread out before him. Iwaizumi lets out a sigh. But then he drags his own seat over to help the duo in their mission.

It takes both Ushijima and Iwaizumi’s combined stubbornness to keep Kageyama from taking the reins. The boy gets frustrated, constantly trying to pick the pieces up and do it himself, but Ushijima and Iwaizumi keep him at bay, the porcelain much too sharp for his clumsy hands.

Kageyama huffs, insisting he can do it fine and that he’ll be careful.

Iwaizumi can just feel the tantrum festering in Kageyama’s legs as they jitter below him. Instead of giving in, he reminds him he’s been given the supervisor’s role, which is even more important than being on the ground level. This seems to appease him for the moment.

They are so wrapped up in their task and in each other that they don’t hear the door creak open, or the padding of soft feet, until a voice breaks their concentration, “What are you doing?”

They freeze.

Kageyama squawks, “Don’t look!”

Ushijima grabs the plastic bag and shoves it atop the half rebuilt mess they had been working on.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, “Oh?” he questions, stepping forward.

“No!” Kageyama shouts, hopping off his chair and scurrying to the other side, “You’ll ruin it!”

Oikawa makes a point of sidestepping the boy easily, barely giving him a glance, “Will I now?” He smiles cruelly as he plucks the bag away, ignoring the severe glare he’s receiving from Iwaizumi.

And then he stops.

“Oh,” he says.

“It’s not done yet,” Kageyama cries, “You ruined it!”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi starts even though he knows its too late.

Kageyama glares at him, “If you had just let me do it, it would have been done in time!” he shouts, and he kicks one of the empty chair legs, hard enough to have it topple over. The following clatter jolts him, sparking more anger in his eyes, “You’re so stupid! I could have done it fine on my own!”

“Kageyama!” Ushijima snaps and Kageyama lets out his own garbled shout back, but he does it in retreat, escaping away into his room.

Oikawa lets out a breath. “So violent,” he mutters.

“Oh give it a rest, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi growls, standing up.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa squints as he forces on a smile a few inches too wide.

Iwaizumi isn't in the mood, “God, you make your face so punchable sometimes, you ass.”

Oikawa feels acid fill his mouth, “Oh, so _that’s_ where he gets it from,” he spits out.

Iwaizumi stares at him, burned.

Oikawa bites his lip and doesn’t look him in the eye.

Iwaizumi turns away to walk down the hall but Oikawa’s instincts move faster, grabbing his arm, “I didn’t,” he starts, swallowing, regret making his voice shaky, praying the burns inflicted don’t scar over, “I’m sorry, I didn’t, I’m just stressed and--”

“That doesn’t make it ok,” Iwaizumi turns back “That was fucking low, Oikawa.”

“I know, I was just--”

“And I’m not the only one you owe an apology to.”

Oikawa clenches his mouth shut.

Iwaizumi wrenches his arm free, “He’s a _kid_ , Oikawa. You know he’s terrified of you? He just wanted to make things right, and you ruined it for him.”

Oikawa wrinkles his nose, “ _He’s_ the one--”

“Oh my God,” Iwaizumi interrupts, again, “He’s _eleven_ , Oikawa and you’re almost thirty years old. Start acting like it!”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything to that, only watches as Iwaizumi stomps to his own bedroom and slams his door. Oikawa sighs through his gritted teeth, gliding his fingers through his hair. He finds Ushijima picking the chair back up from the ground.

Oikawa slumps over to him but Ushijima shrugs him off, and it’s only then that Oikawa realizes the tenseness in his shoulders, the thinly veiled anger in his posture.

“Ushiwaka?”

“Apologize,” Ushijima orders, and his voice is cold, “Apologize to Kageyama.”

Oikawa swallows, fingers digging into palms,“Oh, so you’re taking his side too?” he snaps, shoulders raising, “Both of you are always teaming up against me now, I’m getting tired of it!”

“ _I_ am teaming up against _you_?” Ushijima repeats, incredulously, “Is that what you really believe? Is that what you think?”

Oikawa glares at the counter.

Ushijima shakes his head, giving up, “You are not the center of the universe, Oikawa Tooru,” he continues, as he heads toward the door to the stairs, “The world does not stop until you feel better. It keeps turning, whether you want it to or not.”

Oikawa is left alone in his kitchen and he hates it.

Oikawa knows he is wrong and he hates it.

He lets out a sigh to deflate, sinking into one of the chairs and resting his head on the countertop. He lets the coolness seep through his forehead and settle himself. He remembers why he ventured out here in the first place and gets up to pour himself a cup of water.

After finishing his drink he pours another cup and steals himself. He pads down the hallway and opens the first door to Kageyama’s bedroom.

Kageyama startles at the intrusion, face red and wet, sheets gripped tightly in his little fists where he was kicking about. When he realizes who’s in his room he shouts more desperately, “Go away!”

Oikawa closes the door behind him and flicks the light on.

Kageyama screams at him.

Oikawa walks closer, undeterred, and its only then that Kageyama quiets down, but Oikawa finds this much more unsettling. Because the boy is cowering now and he flinches, hard, when Oikawa offers the cup to him.

“It’s water,” Oikawa explains, and then adds, when he realizes belatedly that that’s not enough, “It’s cold water. To drink.”

Kageyama pulls the covers over his head instead, “Go away,” he pleads.

Oikawa puts the cup down on the nightstand and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Tobio-chan,” he sighs, “I....I’m...Look,” he huffs, frustrated, “We both overreacted.”

Kageyama peers over the blankets, blue eyes squinting with distrust.

Oikawa squints right back at him, “I shouldn’t have screamed when you broke my mother’s priceless cat figurine, which she loved more than anything.” Kageyama looks back down at the covers guiltily, fingers squeezing the blanket tighter. “And you shouldn’t have kicked over the chair just now while screaming.”

“We were fixing it,” Kageyama insists, voice croaking from how raw his throat had become from his tantrum, “You weren’t supposed to see it yet.”

“Drink your water,” Oikawa deflects, because thinking of the sentiment behind what he had just interrupted makes his stomach twist. He nudges the cup into Kageyama’s begrudging hands. The boy does take it, gulping it down greedily despite his previous denials. Oikawa fights down his smile with every fiber of his being.

“Better?” he asks.

Kageyama nods, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, “It’s not like last time.”

“Last time?” Oikawa asks before he can think better of it.

Kageyama draws his legs up so he can hug his knees to his chest, pressing his face into them, muffling his voice, “It was scary last time,” he murmurs, blue eyes flickering up nervously, “I couldn’t stop and it hurt, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop.”

Oikawa’s lips press together into a thin line and he hesitates before opening his mouth, “It was probably something called a panic attack.”

“What does that mean?” Kageyama asks.

“What _does_ it mean?” Oikawa muses, placing a finger on his chin for added effect, “How about we make a deal, Tobio. I tell you what it mean and _you_ tell Iwa-chan and Ushiwaka-chan everything’s fine now. Because everything is fine now, right Tobio-chan?”

Kageyama blinks and then nods slowly, “Ok. Everything is fine now.”

“Good boy,” Oikawa praises, gracing the top of Kageyama’s head with a pat.

“So tell me! What does that mean?” Kageyama probes.

Oikawa purses his lips, “Its when, its when your brain thinks it’s in danger, like it’s about to die, even though you’re not, so it tells your body to fix it, but there’s nothing _to fix_ , so it freaks out,” he explains slowly, “Your heart beats faster, it gets hard to breathe, which makes it worse. My--I mean, sometimes your arms go numb and tingly, you cry, you freeze up, a lot of things can happen, it, it depends.”

Kageyama has sat up completely, body leaning forward, “That’s! That’s what it felt like! Exactly!” he says, with more energy than he should have at this point. Oikawa flinches back, trying to keep down the sudden disgust trying to paint its way on his face.

“Yes, yes,” Oikawa continues, carefully prying Kageyama’s hands off of him and urging him to lay back down, “Now, remember your part of the deal.”

“Everything is fine!” Kageyama chirps.

Oikawa nods, and he moves to leave but he hesitates again where he’s perched. He bites his lip, then looks back at Kageyama, who is staring at him with his large unblinking eyes, “If it happens again, count to ten then breathe in. Count to ten, breathe out. Over and over again.”

Kageyama blinks at him, “What? Why?”

Oikawa snorts, lets his hand stroke Kageyama’s leg from above the blanket idly as he shakes his head, “Good night, Tobio-chan.”

It’s after Oikawa has left his room and turned off the lights, and Kageyama has nuzzled into his pillow that he thinks the ghosted touch along his legs seemed oddly familiar.

He’s too tired to really dwell on it.

* * *

 **-** **_Stop Changing the Name of the Group Chat, Oikawa_ ** **-**

 **Oikawa Tooru:** lets go home this weekend

 **Oikawa Tooru:** all of us

 **Oikawa Tooru:** mom and auntie and uncle probs want to meet their new grandkid

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** r u serious?

 **Oikawa Tooru:** im always serious :p

 **Ushijima Wakatoshi:** Factually Incorrect

 **Oikawa Tooru:** :p :p :p

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** im still pissed at you

 **Ushijima Wakatoshi:** I am also upset

 **Oikawa Tooru:** i love u both

 **Oikawa Tooru:** i talked to tobs

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** did you apologize

 **Oikawa Tooru:** we’re good now

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** did u apologize

 **Oikawa Tooru:** you gotta meet me in the middle here iwa-chan

 **Oikawa Tooru:** can you call auntie and uncle tomorrow about seeing them this weekend

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** yeah

 **Oikawa Tooru:** do you want to swing by your mom’s too ushi?

 **Ushijima Wakatoshi:** It is out of the way but I will ask

 **Oikawa Tooru:** <3 <3 <3

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** im going to sleep

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** ushiwaka don’t stay with the flowers all night

 **Ushijima Wakatoshi** : i will come up soon

 **Oikawa Tooru:** <3 <3 <3

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** enough oikawa

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** enough

* * *

Oikawa lingers in the hallway, caught in the threshold between doors, guts twisting and coiling like the rope he sometimes feels around his neck. He locks his phone, presses the coldness of it on his forehead and counts to ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this has honestly just become my vent fic
> 
> like whenever i get stuck in a period of anxiety overload because of life and work and stuff i just open up this fic and pour it all out 
> 
> hope this chapter is decent-ish
> 
> even tho i say its a vent fic there is masterplan surrounding it dont worry
> 
> i swear happy times will come for these boys
> 
> u can yell at me at my tumblr: findingschmomo.tumblr.com
> 
> thanks ~~(nice seventeen reference there kelly)~~


	7. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa doesn’t know how his mother can destroy him so easily without realizing. How her words can close up his throat to a pinprick and make his arms numb from the elbow down. 
> 
> But she can.
> 
> And she does.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know where he finds the time, but he does. He finds it in the pockets during the day he used to chat with Daichi, to scold Kyoutani and to visit Oikawa at his office. He finds it in the late nights, hidden under the covers of his bed to shield Ushijima’s snoring form from the blinding light of his phone. 

It’s easier than he thought it would be. 

He’s not used to playing petty. It’s Oikawa’s game, to ignore, to block out, to fold in on himself until Iwaizumi and Ushijima have to pry him back out into the light. He can count maybe a handful of times he’d done it himself, almost all of them back when he was a moody teenager coming to terms with his sexuality and the fact he was hopeless in love with his best friend. It was warranted. 

This was warranted too. Probably. 

Keeping away from his partners opened up many instances throughout the day to pour over names and addresses. But it’s still useless. Fruitless. 

Kageyama doesn’t remember the boy’s name. At all. Only remembers orange hair and a grating voice and sunflower petals. Iwaizumi even, at one point on patrol by himself, had searched out Kageyama’s old home and knocked on the neighbor’s door. But the owner is already two families separated from the one that lived there when Kageyama befriended the boy through the fence gaps. 

Useless. 

Oikawa could help. 

This is Oikawa’s specialty. Prying and searching, piecing together puzzle after puzzle until the image finally unblurs all together. Oikawa had the access, the drive and the obsessive, relentless nature to pull this off. 

But he doesn’t want to talk to Oikawa. 

Not right now. 

Not about Kageyama. 

He sighs. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. His phone gets lost in the covers and he doesn’t feel like searching it out blindly. Instead, he gets up all together, padding two steps before climbing into the neighboring bed. 

Ushijima’s eyes blink open, mere slivers of gold, “Hajime?”

Iwaizumi hums, crawling to settle down beside the taller man. It’s tight, and a bit uncomfortable, but he’s managed worse. If they could fit three grown man in a twin size bed throughout college he could deal with this for a few hours.

“Is something the matter?” Ushijima murmurs, voice deeper than normal, eyes already losing the battle to stay open. 

Iwaizumi smiles, “Can’t sleep.”

“Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi snorts, “Don’t tell him. It’ll go to his head.”

Ushijima smiles then, turning his body to make more room, slipping down to nuzzle his head in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, “I am too tired to provide proper council.”

“I’m too tired to process what the hell you just said,” Iwaizumi huffs, raising a hand to card through Ushijima’s hair. Ushijima hums and Iwaizumi can feel the vibrations against his skin. 

  
He stays awake a bit longer, thinking of Oikawa in his giant bed, covered in thick blankets but most likely still shivering despite it all. He swallows. 

He had never been good at being petty. He had always been too forgiving toward Oikawa.

Especially Oikawa. 

He loves him. 

* * *

By the time Friday rolls around, and the family start packing the car for their weekend trip, a silent truce has blanketed over them.

And that’s fine. 

For now. 

* * *

Oikawa is tense when he enters his family’s home, peeking his head through the door and calling a loud but tentative, “I’m home.”

“Welcome home,” echoes back at him from what he assumes to be the kitchen. He toes off his shoes at the door, flicking his gaze back toward Iwaizumi standing by his heels. He shrugs and they both pad down the familiar hallway. 

His mother is wiping the counter with hand towel when she looks up at them. 

“Hi mom,” Oikawa murmurs, shuffling forward to kiss her cheek. His mother returns the gesture, squeezing his shoulder in turn.

“Hi Auntie,” Iwaizumi follows, voice soft and tender as he bends down for his own kiss. 

Oikawa’s mother grins, bright and lovely, “Hajime! It’s been too long,” she laments, “Tooru keeps you all to himself.”

Oikawa snorts, at that, but doesn’t hide his smile. He takes a seat at the counter, “Mom, your favoritism is showing,” he whines. 

“Oh hush, Tooru,” she scoffs, waving him off dismissively. She squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand, keeping her gaze steady on his face, “Hajime, your family has been so helpful these past few weeks. Please give them all my thanks when you see them next.”

“I’ll tell them tonight when we head over,” Iwaizumi assures, patting her hand. 

She nods, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and it pangs Iwaizumi that he can’t offer her more. She lets him go, “Where’s the other one?” she asks, flicking her gaze back toward her son, “Ushijuma?   
  


“Ushijima,” Oikawa sighs, “He’s helping Tobio-chan out of the car. He’ll be in soon.”

“Why aren’t you helping?” his mother chides, “You’re always making him and Hajime do all the work, Tooru. Don’t be so delicate! I birthed a son didn’t I?”

Oikawa grits his teeth as he smiles.

“It’s because you babied him, Mom,” a new voice shares, coming in from the laundry room, before Oikawa can come up with his own retort. 

“Nee-chan!” Oikawa blinks, looking over at her, “I didn’t know you would be here!? And I was  _ not _ babied.”

Fumiko rolls her eyes, settling the empty laundry basket on the ground by her feet and out of the way. She straightens up, eyes catching on the other man in the room, “Hey Iwaizumi. Still sticking around, huh? My brother hasn’t driven you insane yet?”

Iwaizumi grins, “He tries, but I manage,” he replies back, earning himself a laugh from her. Oikawa rolls his eyes, ready to retort some sort of defense when Ushijima finally enters the room, Kageyama poking out beside him. 

“Oh! Is this him?” Fumiko calls, immediately moving forward to crouch down toward Kageyama, “The little devil himself?” she cooes. 

Kageyama’s grip on Ushijima’s shirt tightens. 

Fumiko ruffles his hair with a smile, “Hello Tobio! I’m Tooru’s big sister, Oikawa Fumiko. But you can call me Auntie.”

Kageyama swallows. 

Fumiko blinks expectantly. 

“Nee-chan,” Oikawa says, after an awkward pause, “He’s a bit shy.”

Fumiko raises a brow but straightens up all the same. 

“No need to be shy, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa’s mother says with her own soft smile from the other side of the counter, “You’re always welcome here. Do you want anything? I just finished cutting some orange slices!”

Kageyama doesn’t know which woman to look at so he stares strictly forward and keeps his mouth squarely shut. 

“Orange slices and water would be great,” Oikawa steps in again. He flicks his gaze toward Kageyama, patting the seat beside him, “Tobio-chan come sit at the counter.”

Kageyama’s shoulders loosen with a simple order to follow. He can do that. He scurries away from Ushijima’s side to climb up on the high chair, similar to the ones around the island they have back in the apartment. It’s familiar. It’s nice.

Oikawa’s mother sets down a plate of sliced oranges in front of the boy along with a glass of water. She slides over the bowl of untouched oranges to the center, letting the adults pick from the pile and peel their own snack. 

Conversation flows casually then and Kageyama feels comfortably shielded from it. He sits between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and the pair along with Ushijima keep the conversation from directly involving him, even if it tends to be about him. And he’s fine with that. He’s used to adults talking about him. He would rather not participate. 

Oranges are tasty, and the color is comforting to look at as he fidgets with the rinds.

“Oh, that reminds me, Tooru, you said you would bring my figurine? Where is it before I forget?” Oikawa’s mother brings up during a lull. 

Kageyama squeezes the rinds in his fingers, breaking them apart. 

Oikawa sighs, “Well Mom, I  _ was _ , but there was a little incident and it, uh, well, it broke,” he starts carefully, leaning down to fish into his bag, “Tobio-chan was really worried, so he did his best to fix it for you.” 

He pulls out the mangled figurine, glued completely back together, cracks visible as dark lines against the white porcelain. Oikawa’s mother frowns, eyes widening as she carefully takes the figurine in her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama blurts out, and it’s the first words he’s said since entering the building, and it’s enough to soften Oikawa’s mother’s heart instantly. 

“Oh don’t worry, Tobio-chan,” she murmurs, patting his head despite how rigid he becomes under her fingers, “It was an ugly old thing anyway. It looks better like this.” 

Oikawa doesn’t realize he’s digging his fingernails into his knees until Ushijima’s hand on his thigh stops him. He lets out a breath through his nose, teeth gritted behind his closed lips and he just, he  _ can’t _ stand his mother sometimes. 

There’s something heavy in the air now, and it doesn’t take Iwaizumi long to realize the Oikawa’s would appreciate time amongst themselves. He stands up, “That reminds me, I promised my parents I’d pick up some groceries for dinner tonight. Ushijima, Kageyama, can you come help me?”

Ushijima nods, standing up, but Kageyama doesn’t budge, biting his lip, “I don’t want to go,” he hisses to the countertop. Grocery stores are full of people, and Kageyama doesn’t want to be near people.

Iwaizumi is about to argue, when Oikawa’s mother waves him off, “The poor boy probably never wants to sit in a car again, let him be.”

Iwaizumi hesitates until Oikawa waves him off as well. Iwaizumi sends him a warning look that Oikawa takes offense to, but says nothing regardless. And with that, Ushijima and Iwaizumi leave the residence altogether. 

Even Kageyama can feel the tension in the air. 

“Can I have another orange?” Kageyama asks quietly. 

Oikawa grabs one before his mother can, grateful to do something with his hands before they start their tell-tale fidgeting. He rolls the fruit on the counter, waiting. 

“Tooru,” his mother starts, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Oikawa licks his dry lips, mind already having come to that conclusion after the first look he shared with his mother. He’d already been overanalyzing any and all possible outcomes:  _ I need money, your father still hasn’t paid his end, we need you to move back in, I’m sick, I’m dying-- _

He sucks in a breath to stop himself, stomach churning with anxiety at the mere idea of his mother passing away, which to be fair,  _ is  _ something he is going to have to deal with, and it’s not like she’s that young and oh, god, that  _ is _ what this is about isn’t it? and he’s not sure he can--

Kageyama’s foot nudges his calf under the counter, and Oikawa can’t tell if the boy has become more perceptive or if the boy is anxious himself and is just swinging his legs to get rid of the energy. He settles on the latter, if only for his own sake.

“Well?” he asks, realizing his mother is waiting on a response from him. He starts peeling the orange, focusing on trying to do it all in one take, bracing himself. 

“I’m selling the house.”

The long peel snaps in his hand. 

“You’re what?!” 

“You  _ sold _ the house,” Fumiko corrects, and Oikawa can hear her own resentment in her bitter tone, and it comforts him the slightest bit. 

“Fumiko!” Oikawa’s mother hushes, giving her daughter a stern look before looking back over at Oikawa. 

“You sold the house?” Oikawa repeats, dumb founded. 

“Tooru,” his mother begins, her voice already condescending, like Tooru is still five years old and needs things explained in careful detail, and it  _ infuriates _ him, “You know this house is much too big for just me.”

Like it’s obvious. 

Like he had not lived his entire life in this house. Like he had not had countless memories engraved in the very wood that creaks beneath his feet. Like none of it mattered enough to tell him the house was being put up for sale in the first place. 

“Mom--”

“Don’t overreact,” his mother cuts in already.

“I’m not overreacting!” Oikawa snaps, but he squeezes the orange in his hand, juice coating his finger and he drops it in shock. He flushes a little, feeling silly under the scrutiny of the only two women he’d ever loved. He lets out a breath through gritted teeth. 

“You’re shaking Tooru,” his mother comments, “You need to calm down. See this is why I wanted to tell him on the phone, Fumiko, you know how he gets.”

“Mom--”

“How  _ I  _ get?” Oikawa repeats, interrupting his sister as his anger only grows.

“He’s getting worked up,” his mother sighs, “Tooru, you can’t just react like this to every little thing. You’re a grown man now, aren’t you?”

Oikawa doesn’t know how his mother can destroy him so easily without realizing. How her words can close up his throat to a pinprick and make his arms numb from the elbow down. But she can. And she does.

(It’s because he loves her, and he doesn’t want to disappoint her.)

(It feels like he only ever disappoints her.)

There’s nudge by his elbow, and he looks down to see Kageyama nudging his half drunk glass of water toward him. Blue eyes blown wide and terrified, and Oikawa can see that his legs are jittering up and down where he sits and he wonders why the boy hasn’t run off from this awful atmosphere already, because Oikawa sure would have if he could. 

He manages to take a deep breath and focus back on his mother, “Mom, I’m just, I’m surprised.”

“Now, see,  _ that’s _ reasonable. I understand it’s shocking, but it’s time, it’s time for changes, a new atmosphere and all,” his mom continues, waving dismissively, “I’m going to stay with Fumiko until I find my own little place.”

Oikawa opens his mouth, and there’s a lot he wants to say, to shout, to ask, to demand, to beg, but he swallows it all down. “Alright,” he says instead. Because that’s all he really can, at this point. Just accept it, as the world whirls around him, forever stuck in the epicenter, absolutely powerless. 

“I’m sorry,” his mother adds, almost like an afterthought, “If I was harsh, it’s just, you get, you get so  _ sensitive _ .”

Oikawa grits his teeth, rubbing his forehead, and can’t help it when he hisses out, “I have  _ anxiety _ , mom.”

His mother rolls her eyes, “We all get anxious, Tooru. You just take it over the edge, always a flair for the dramatic.”

Oikawa doesn’t bother responding. It’s nothing new. It’s always the same. And he hopes that the subject will drop with the droop of his shoulders.    
  
It doesn’t. 

“It’s because your damn father was so absent, never around to teach you properly, you know,” his mother continues, and  _ this _ is new, fresh after the divorce, this sudden pivot. Oikawa looks up at her in surprise, trying to gather where the hell she was going with this, “It messed you up, not having a good role model in the home. I was so worried, and then relieved when you got into volleyball, but, it, it wasn’t enough was it. And well, at least, at least we  _ knew _ Hajime but now you’ve added another one and,  _ really _ Tooru, the strain you put on me is just--”

“ _ Mom _ ,” Fumiko hisses, and her gaze is fierce, the same one she uses to get Takeru to stop dead in his tracks, “Let’s just, drop it.”

Oikawa forgets, sometimes, how much he loves his sister. 

Oikawa’s mother quiets down, instead picking up the half peeled orange, and breaking off a slice for Kageyama. Kageyama shakes his head, but Oikawa’s mother keeps offering it. 

“He doesn’t want it, mom,” Oikawa mutters, voice devoid of much of anything. 

“Why are you always speaking for him? He’s old enough to talk for himself, Tooru,” his mother responds. 

Kageyama pulls back from the offered slice, and his hand is digging into Oikawa’s shirt under the counter, and  _ that’s _ new too. The boy mostly clings to Ushijima or Iwaizumi. 

“You’re overwhelming him,” Oikawa explains, “Just step back a little.”

His mother rolls his eyes, “Tooru, don’t project on him. He’s young and impressionable.”

Oikawa stands up then, and he takes Kageyama’s hand tightly in his own, “We need some air,” he calls, letting his sister cover for him as he all but drags the boy out of the house and into his backyard. 

“Oikawa-san?” Kageyama asks quietly, when Oikawa stops walking in the middle of his grassy yard. It’s unkempt, and Oikawa realizes it’s because his Dad always used to mow the lawn. He squeezes his hands, effectively squeezing Kageyama’s as well. 

“Oikawa-san?” Kageyama repeats, a bit louder. 

Oikawa looks down at him, and he takes a deep breath, swallowing down the tears just begging to leak out of him. He crouches down, puts his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders, and looks at him, “Tobio, don’t ever listen to that kind of talk.”

Kageyama blinks at him.

“It’s ok, to react the way you do, to  _ feel _ the way you do, it doesn’t mean you’re messed up,” Oikawa continues, “Well, it’s not  _ okay _ , but it’s not your fault. And as long as you work on it, that’s all they can ask of you. So don’t, don’t listen to her.”

“Are you ok, Oikawa-san?” Kageyama asks, worriedly. 

“I’m fine,” Oikawa lies, pulling his hands back. 

Kageyama frowns, grappling with his words and he settles for this, “I hate moving too.”

Oikawa blinks at this admission, and then lets out a bark of a laugh, pulled from his throat too suddenly. He swallows it back down, “Yeah,” he agrees, “it’s awful.”

“Parents are stupid,” Kageyama adds, a bit emboldened by the laugh. 

Oikawa nods, “Parents  _ are _ stupid.”

He sits down on the grass, taking in a deep breath to settle his heart. Kageyama sits down beside him wordlessly, bringing his knees up to hug to his chest. Oikawa looks over at him and he smiles and it’s safe and Kageyama is in awe of it, slack jawed and eyes wide. 

Oikawa looks away and Kageyama worries he’s ruined it. 

But then Oikawa speaks again, voice soft and directed to the sky, “Do you want to share a secret code, Tobio-chan? Just you and me?”

“What about Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san?” Kageyama tilts his head.

Oikawa shakes his head, “Just me and you.”

“What for?”

“If you ever feel a panic attack coming, remember what that was? That seize in your chest, and---”

“I remember!” Kageyama all but shouts to prove himself.

Oikawa doesn’t comment, continuing on, “Yes, well, if you ever feel one coming, and I’m there just say, ‘Oikawa-san, I need oranges.’”

“Oikawa-san, I need oranges?” Kageyama repeats carefully.

“Exactly, and no matter what, I will get you out,” Oikawa promises. 

Kageyama blinks at him, the full weight of the code settling in his arms. He doesn’t want to drop it, this important gift Oikawa has given him, “No matter what?”

“Even if it’s my fault,” Oikawa continues firmly, “No matter what.”

Kageyama purses his lips and then sits up onto his knees. He presses into Oikawa’s space, forcing the man to look at him for the first time since he he’d turn away, boring his wide eyes into him. Oikawa squints back at him, “What?”

“You too,” Kageyama orders, thrusting a finger into his face, “You can use it on me too.”

Oikawa blinks, going cross eyed from the finger. Something seizes in his chest and he tries hard to bury down. He scoffs, recovering himself, “You’re a kid, Tobio-chan. Adults can take care of themselves.”   
  


Kageyama glares at him, and he would have pestered him more about it if the sound of a car pulling into the driveway didn’t distract the both of them from it all. 

* * *

They have dinner down the street at Iwaizumi’s house. Iwaizumi helps his mother cook the meal, effectively keeping her from pinching Kageyama’s cheeks anymore than she already has. Oikawa does his best to chat with Iwaizumi’s father and mother while they work in the kitchen on their tasks. But Iwaizumi can tell his heart isn’t in it, and he hasn’t had the opening to ask why.

Ushijima takes Kageyama outside to show him Iwaizumi’s volleyball net, still strung up and ready to use. Kageyama’s eyes widen at the sight of it, fingers gripping the hem of his hoodie tightly. 

“You’re interested, correct?” Ushijima asks, as he digs out the ball from Iwaizumi’s garage. A bit flatter than ideal but enough for this. 

Kageyama nods.

“You’ve never played?”

Kageyama shakes his head. 

Ushijima tosses the ball to Kageyama and the boy catches it reflexively. Ushijima bends his knees slightly, “In volleyball, you are not allowed to catch the ball. You can only hit it back.” He motions for Kageyama to toss the ball back toward him. 

Kageyama does so, determined to do it right and do it well. Ushijima watches it in the air before squatting and bringing his arms out and down, pressed together so his unbent elbows line up. He receives the ball and sends it back up. 

Kageyama isn’t stupid. He copies the movement Ushijima demonstrated to the best of his ability, squatting down and bringing his arms out where he thinks the ball will drop. It hits the side of his arm and veers startling to the right. Ushijima lurches toward and manages to catch it. 

Before Ushijima can even say anything Kageyama’s mouth is set in a grim line, “I can do it!” he shouts, certain and determined, “One more!”

Ushijima smiles. 

They volley back and forth, Kageyama’s energy only growing the more he expends it. He receives a few proper balls and each time he does his eyes shine. Ushijima doesn’t let up, doesn’t make it easy and Kageyama loves it. 

The fun stops when Iwaizumi calls for them to sit for dinner. 

But this meal is different. Kageyama is jittery, yes, but he is excited and enthused. He doesn’t stop talking. He describes everything he and Ushijima had been doing, ranks every receive he made in a preferential order. And it’s all they can do to keep up with his tirade. 

“You sure he isn’t yours?” Iwaizumi’s father asks with a raised brow, “This is  _ exactly _ what you and Tooru were like at his age.”

Kageyama sparkles, eyes drawn to look over at Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Iwaizumi grins, leaning to the side to ruffle his black hair. But Oikawa is distracted, chopsticks pushing at his rice more than shoveling into his mouth. 

Iwaizumi seems to notice this too, so he keeps the conversation away, adding, “Ushiwaka was also a volleyball fiend too.”

“Pity we never played against each other,” Ushijima comments, between bites. Iwaizumi’s parents laugh and maybe Oikawa  _ is _ listening because he lifts his head, mischief in his eyes. 

“I would have  _ hated _ you,” Oikawa says with playful certainty, “The way you play is  _ infuriating _ .”

Ushijima snorts but the comment is dropped for other conversation. How life has been, how life is going. Volleyball filters in and out of it. 

“So, Tobio, is my son treating you alright?” Iwaizumi’s mother asks with a teasing smile at her only child. 

“Iwaizumi-san is cool. He’s a policeman,” Kageyama offers, and Iwaizumi is surprised he’s talking so easily. As if the exercise had loosened not only his muscles but his lips. “Ushijima-san lets me help in his shop though which is cooler. Sorry.”

The Iwaizumis snicker, “And what about Tooru?”

Oikawa can feel how Iwaizumi and Ushijima tense up even though he’s only sitting next to one of them. He would snort if he had the energy to. Instead, he lazily looks over at Kageyama, raising an eyebrow. 

Kageyama blinks, “Oikawa-san is really smart and understanding.”

“How sweet,” Iwaizumi’s mother murmurs, touching her hand to her chest.  

Iwaizumi and Ushijima share a surprised look before flicking their gazes at Oikawa. Oikawa stuffs rice into his mouth as nonchalantly as he can. And when the looks at him don’t subside he swallows, raising a brow, “What? Are you surprised? I’m a joy to be around.”

The Iwaizumis laugh, good naturedly, at the return of Oikawa’s natural humor. Iwaizumi huffs, shaking off his stupor to turn to Kageyama, “What about you thinking he was scary?”

Kageyam glares at Iwaizumi, redness dusting his cheeks, “Oikawa-san is not scary,” he recites, but then he falters, “Sometimes.”

Most of the table laughs at that and conversation resumes casually. It ebbs and flows as the meal is consumed. Once they’re finished Iwaizumi’s mother asks Kageyama if he’ll help her with the dishes, to which he readily responds, “I can do it!” 

Oikawa is quick to tell her to keep the water cool, just in case, and although she seems a bit confused she doesn’t argue. Kageyama is in charge of drying anyway, focused and determined to make every plate spotless. 

Oikawa turns back toward his boyfriends, both having migrated to the couch in the other room. Iwaizumi’s father must have gone upstairs to lie down, because he finds it’s just the three of them. 

It’s the first time, in a while, that they find themselves with just each other. And it’s silent, for a bit. 

“I’m going to spend the night back home,” Oikawa informs, quietly. 

The pair blink, “Why?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa fidgets with a stray thread at the hem of his shirt, “Mom sold the house.”

Iwaizumi stands up, “What?”

Oikawa bites his lip, “Mom says its too big for her. Nee-chan told me it’s because she can’t afford it anymore. Anyway, she’s moving out soon. So,” Oikawa swallows, looking to the side, “This might be the last time I can sleep in it.”

Iwaizumi swallows, “Yeah, no, go,” he responds awkwardly and Oikawa wants him to hug him, pleads for one with his eyes because ever since they’re fight last week they’ve all been so distant, and he wants to feel him again, and he’s been trying so hard to be better and--

Iwaizumi hugs him and Oikawa melts. And Oikawa hates that he’s crying, because he’d been fighting it for hours quite successfully but the moment Iwaizumi touches him he becomes utterly undone. He buries his face in the crook of his neck, trying to choke on his shirt collar so auntie and uncle don’t hear him sob.  

He feels Ushijima’s warm trunk of a body behind him, shielding him from the world so that no one can see him and he’s grateful. So grateful. And he loves them, he loves them so much he feels the tears pour out of him all the harder. Because he’s miss this, he’s missed  _ them _ so much. 

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi murmurs in his ear, “We can all sleep there, you know? If you want.”

Oikawa shakes his head, pulling back to lean his back against Uhsijima’s chest and wipe his eyes, “I don’t want Tobio-chan there,” he says firmly, “It’s no good for him.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, taken aback. 

Ushijima leans forward in the interim, resting his chin on Oikawa’s shoulder, lips very close to his throat as he speaks, “I could go with you then, while Iwaizumi is here with Kageyama.”

Oikawa smiles, continueing to dab at his eyes with the end of his sleeve. He shakes his head, mindful not to hit Ushijima’s, “I want to talk to my sister.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi nods, running a hand along Oikawa’s forearm, letting his fingers squeeze him.

Oikawa nods, but vulnerability still clings to his tall form, making him curl inwards and his lips quiver. And he feels stupid, and childish, and dramatic, and he’s overreacting and all those other things his mother had hurled his way without meaning too. And so he swallows, “You still love me right?”

Iwaizumi blinks, “What kind of question is that?” 

“One I need answered,” Oikawa hisses, voice barely a whisper. 

“Always,” Iwaizumi insists, fingers tightening on his forearms. 

Ushijima’s arms tighten where they’re wrapped around his stomach, nose nuzzling into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, “We love you.”

Oikawa’s one hand curls up to thread into Ushijima’s hair and pull him up. He presses a soft kiss to his cheek, near his ear before turning to Iwaizumi and giving him his own light peck.

Iwaizumi can sense him leaving so he keeps his grip, “I’m sorry, about, about ignoring you this week, for so long—-“

“It’s okay,” Oikawa murmurs, but its wet with emotion from everything else, “Let’s not, let’s not talk about this right now. Later. Tomorrow night, when Tobio’s asleep. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ushijima nods.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi sighs.

“Be good,” Oikawa says, with the ghost of his teasing personality, even though he’s too drained to really sell it, “I’ll come back in the morning.”

Iwaizumi is still a bit lost in the wake of him leaving. Lost in a memory, when Oikawa was just as vulnerable, more vulnerable, crying and terrified over words Iwaizumi couldn’t even remember uttering, begging to know, _but_ _do you still love me?_

(Of course, that had all ended for the better hadn’t it?)

He flicks his gaze toward Ushijima who is frowning at the spot once occupied by Oikawa. He reaches out and Ushijma notices, taking his hand and squeezing it tight. 

(It had.)

* * *

Kageyama throws a fit when they have to leave the Iwaizumi household because Iwaizumi-san  _ promised _ he would play volleyball with him before they had to leave and he  _ broke _ that promise.

It’s the ugly side that Iwaizumi had wished not to show his parents. The side of Kageyama where he erupts, kicking at walls and screaming until his face goes bright red. Iwaizumi had not seen the explosion coming and his parents were similarly caught off guard. 

And it had only gotten worse when the boy had finally tired himself out, and Iwaizumi’s mother had gotten a warm washcloth to wipe away his tears and Kageyama had started screaming anew until Ushijima swooped him up in his arms to take him outside. 

Iwaizumi did not want to tell his parents about Kageyama’s file. Iwaizumi wanted Kageyama’s past to be his own to share, and not something every person he interacted with knows of. Kageyama was stronger than being skirted around, treated like a baby bird whose wings were already hopelessly broken.  

But his mother is unsatisfied with his vague responses and explanations, and so he’d gotten his own lecture on how to discipline and a warning he needed to step up to properly parent a child. He could stomach that, easy.

Oikawa returns to the house, tired but in higher spirits, to the unfolding disaster. He gathers what happened easily enough and leaves Iwaizumi to deal with his parents to search out Ushijima and Kageyama. 

Kageyama is loose in the yard, keeping several feet from Ushijima who is sitting on the doorstep. The boy is crouched down, pulling at grass furiously, not minding the dirt catching under his fingernails, or the mess he’s making. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa calls, ignoring Ushijima’s warning look, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Pulling the grass,” Kageyama snaps back, obviously.

“And why are you doing that?” Oikawa continues, venturing forward while Ushijima stays back. 

“Because Ushijima-san hates it.”

Oikawa snorts, “And  _ why _ do you want to hurt Ushiwaka-chan’s feelings?”

“Because I hate him and he’s stupid,” Kageyama explains matter of factly.. 

“I thought Ushiwaka-chan was your favorite?” Oikawa reminds.

Kageyama growls, “That was before.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama nods, “Now I hate him.  _ And _ Iwaizumi-san.”

“And me?” Oikawa asks, placing a finger on his chin thoughtfully.

Kageyama pauses, looking up at Oikawa for the first time, “Do we have to leave?”

Oikawa hums with a nod. 

Kageyama scowls, “Then I hate you too.”

Oikawa laughs, enough that it crinkles his eyes and Kageyama feels warm for making him laugh, despite it all. “You’re so rotten, Tobio-chan.”

“I’m not rotten,” Kageyama retorts in a mutter. But he’s stopped pulling at grass and instead he’s digging his fingers into the naked dirt, drawing circles. 

“Then, what do you call little boys who do things to hurt other people’s feelings?”

Kageyama glowers, voice lowering further, “I’m not little,” he protests weakly.

“You’re littler than me,” Oikawa reminds, flicking, the boy’s forehead and making him squawk. “Come on,” he continues, straightening up and dusting his knees, “We need to head out. We can play volleyball when we’re back at home, and if you ask Auntie and Uncle nicely I’m sure they’d let you take a volleyball home with you.”

Kageyama stands up suddenly, “Really?”

But Oikawa is walking away, so Kageyama rushes to follow him, almost forgetting to take off his shoes as he hurls himself back inside of the house. He flounders though an apology, words slapping together as he asks to  _ please _ take a ball home with him. 

The compromise gets him contentedly sitting in the back seat beside Iwaizumi, volleyball clutched tightly in his lap and gifts the adults a quiet two hour ride to Ushijima’s house. The serenity is desperately needed after the rattling morning, and in preparation for what’s to come.

About half an hour from the manor, Ushijima begins to panic. 

Oikawa can sense it, sitting beside him in the driver’s seat. He can’t do much about it, having to focus on the road and listen to his directions carefully. 

It is Ushijima’s own version of panicking. The one that is silent and still, where Ushijima becomes more rock than human. He sits up straighter, forgets to breathe every so often and keeps his eyes straight ahead and far away. 

Oikawa has met Ushijima’s mother maybe a handful of times over the past five years and he can’t blame him for the reaction.

Ushijima’s mother is a terrifying woman. 

Where Oikawa’s mother is oblivious to the wounds her words may deliver, careless in her diction, Ushijima’s mother is precise and cutting, and very much intentional. She wields them like the swords her ancestors used to slice their way through the annals of history, proud and confident.

Oikawa does not know what to expect of this visit. All he can hope for is it doesn’t last long. 

“Take a right,” Ushijima murmurs, “We’re here.”

Iwaizumi will never get used to the size of Ushijima’s childhood home. How they have to go through a  _ wooden gate _ to enter the  _ grounds _ . A grassy hill leads the way up to the traditional Japanese home, large and imposing. Even Kageyama tears his gaze away from his volleyball to gape at it. 

Ushijima is digging his nails into the arms of his seat. 

“Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa says, as he pulls into the driveway, “Do you want us all to go in, or?”

Ushijima nods before Oikawa can say anything further, “She wants to meet Kageyama.”

It might be the sudden tense mood, but Kageyama acquiesces to leaving behind his prize with little pushing. He takes Iwaizumi’s hand and sticks close as they walk up the pebbled path to the front door. 

Ushijima’s mother’s maid opens the door for them with a smile and bow, letting them all in without a word. They take off their shoes, and Ushijima calls out an obligatory, “I am home,” as he walks down the familiar hall. 

“Welcome home, Wakatoshi,” Ushijima’s mother calls back from the living room. She meets them at the threshold of the door, leaning up to giver her son a kiss on the cheek. Ushijima kisses her back in turn, stepping to the side so she can greet the two men following after him. Iwaizumi and Oikawa both dip their heads and smile.

“Where’s the boy?” she asks. 

Kageyama peaks his head out from behind Iwaizumi, tentatively coming forward. Ushijima’s mother is short, shorter than all the old ladies he had met so far, but much more fiersome. She had Ushijima’s face and her skin sagged in weird places. Kageyama couldn’t help but stare at her. 

“He looks like you, Wakatoshi,” she comments, squinting her eyes and leaning forward. She picks up her hand to squeeze his cheek. Kageyama scowls and swats it away, which makes the three men tense up around him.

“Didn’t they teach you to respect your elders?” the woman asks with a raised brow, bring her hand back. 

Kageyama blinks, “No?”

The woman lets out a bark of a laugh, “Well, then that’s their fault. Wakatoshi, what are you doing to this poor boy? No manners? And he’s rail thin! Do you not feed him?”

“Mother--”

“Come, Tobio,” the woman orders, “I have some rice that is just about done.”

Kageyama follows obediently behind her, without another thought, and the three adults stare at each other.

“Well,” Iwaizumi breaks the silence, “That went better than expected.”

“I thought she was going to slap him,” Oikawa confesses. 

Ushijima looks looser, like he can finally let all the breath he’s been locking tightly away in his chest out. He smiles at his partners, “Mother has always had a soft spot for children.”

They rejoin Kageyama in the kitchen, where he is greedily eating a bowl of rice with egg, as if they  _ are _ starving him. Ushijima’s mother gives her son a dry look. 

“Growing boys need to be fed, Wakatoshi,” she chides, but than switches topics in the same breath, “Why isn’t his name Ushijima yet?”

“We haven’t adopted him, formally,” Iwaizumi supplies. 

Ushijima’s mother spares him her first glance since their cursory greeting, before flicking her eyes back to her son, “Is that true?”

“We are fostering him,” Ushijima explains. 

His mother nods slowly, raising brow, “Is there something wrong with him?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Kageyama snaps. 

“Is that the way you talk to someone feeding you?” Ushijma’s mother asks.

“Sorry,” Kageyama mumbles.

“Sorry, Oba-chan,” she corrects.

“Sorry, Oba-chan,” he repeats.

“Mother---”

“When are you going to adopt him, then?” she cuts through, “He seems healthy, once you put some meat on his bones. Good hair, strong eyes. His attitude needs polishing but that’s just time.”

“It is not my decision alone to make, Mother,” Ushijima finally cuts through, voice exasperated. 

His mother blinks, letting her eyes sweep over the other men in her home, mouth twitching downward, “Well,” she continues, “ _ When _ you do adopt him, make sure it’s under  _ your _ name.”

“Mother--”

She interrupts again, tone louder and harsher, hand slamming down on the counter, “I _will_ _not_ lose this chance. You’ve given me this ray of hope after dashing my dreams for the Ushijima line, not once, but _twice_ even, and I will not have you ruin it with your bullheaded selfishness. I swear, Wakatoshi, you just want to send me to an early grave.”

“Can I have some water?” Kageyama interrupts, nervously. 

“I’ll get it,” Iwaizumi replies, slipping back toward the sink to fetch a glass and fill it. 

Ushijima’s mother doesn’t stop him, gaze intent on Kageyama as he swallows down an eager mouthful, “You know, he looks just like your great-grandfather in that one picture? The portrait of him with the Ushijima family swords.”

“Swords?” Kageyama questions. 

“Have you told him  _ nothing _ ?” Ushijma’s mother asks, eyes widening.

“Mother--”

“Come Tobio,” she orders, “Wipe your mouth and follow me.” Kageyama does as he’s told scurrying to follow after her, a curious sparkle to his eyes. 

“Mother, we can’t stay for long,” Ushijima insists, dashing after the both of them, sending an apologetic glance back at his boyfriends. 

“You can stay long enough for me to look through one family album with my new grandson, Wakatoshi. Go clean his plate for me,” his mother snaps back, closing the door behind her and effectively barring him from entering. 

When Ushijima returns to the kitchen, shoulders drooping in defeat, he leans against the counter, “I apologize, we’re going to have to stay for a bit longer than expected.”

Iwaizumi squeezes his shoulder sympathetically.

“You know,” Oikawa says, tracing the edge of the glass Kageyama had been whisked away from, “Other than the fact she won’t acknowledge Iwa-chan and I, this is going surprisingly well.”

Ushijima snorts, resting his head on his folder arms, “She’s been asking for an heir since I was twenty.”

Oikawa shudders, “No wonder she hates us so much,” he sighs out.

“She does not hate you,” Ushijima defends, turning his face so his words aren’t muffled by his arms, “She would not tolerate you if she hated you. She just would prefer if you had a uterus, is all.”

“Lovely,” Oikawa stretches his smile, “How long do we have to stay again?”

They stay another half hour, enough for Ushijima’s mother to skim through the first photo album and be stopped before she could pull out the next. Kageyama absorbs it all quietly, fascinated by the old photos and sketches of samurai. 

Ushijima’s mother delays them a bit longer still, insisting on sending Kageyama off with a bag of some of Ushijima’s old childhood clothes, and one of their family blankets Ushijima’s grandmother had made for him when  _ he _ was young. Kageyama takes it all with a nod, and after a strict reminder, bows in half and gives an obedient, “Thank you, Oba-chan.”

Oikawa is already in the car, tapping at the wheel. Iwaizumi helps Kageyama put his new gifts in the back, except for the blanket that Kageyama insists on keeping in his lap. Ushijima leans down to kiss his mother goodbye, a bit surprised when she holds onto him a fraction longer than necessary. 

“Send pictures,” she murmurs, and her tone makes Ushijima hug her a bit tighter, despite everything. 

“I will,” he promises.

“Be good, Wakatoshi,” she calls as she waves to them from her front door.

“Finally,” Oikawa breathes out, starting up the car. 

Iwaizumi nudges the back of his seat with his knee, “Be nice,” he hisses, before adding, voice softer, “He’s all she has.”

Ushijima’s gaze is lost in the garden at the edge of the family plot to hear any of it.

* * *

“Are we going home now?” Kageyama asks after a long while. It’s nearing noon and he’d been silent in the car for more than an hour. He had his volleyball swaddled up in his new blanket on his lap, holding it tenderly close.

“We’re going someplace fun,” Iwaizumi assures, patting his knee. 

“Your house?” Kageyama asks.

Iwaizumi laughs, migrating his hand up to ruffle his hair and Kageyama doesn’t feel the need to flinch at all, “I’m glad you liked my place.”

Kageyama nods eagerly, “Oba-chan was really cool too. Did you know that Ushijima-san has samurai blood? Samurais are really cool, Iwaizumi-san. They’re cooler than policemen. Sorry.”

Oikawa snorts from the driver seat, flicking his turn signal, “Do you know how many times I’ve  _ begged _ Ushiwaka-chan to grow out his hair?”

“Like in a Samurai ponytail thing?” Kageyama prompts, sitting up. He leans forward, grasping the top of Ushijima’s seat as he does so. 

“He would look  _ so _ handsome,” Oikawa sighs, one hand coming off the wheel to tug at the short strands on Ushijima’s hand. 

Ushijima swats him away with a glare, “I prefer my hair short and out of my eyes.”

“Amen to that,” Iwaizumi agrees from the back. 

Oikawa’s shoulders droop, “Both of you blessed with such thick healthy hair and you  _ waste _ it. Atrocious. Absolutely atrocious.”

“Iwaizumi’s hair looks like a cactus,” Kageyama offers.

“Is that a complement?” Iwaizumi wonders aloud, but his voice is light. Kageyama leans back into his seat.

“Cactuses are cool,” Kageyama says, “They can survive anything.”

“Not anything,” Ushijima can’t help but correct. 

“What does Oikawa’s hair look like?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“A bird’s nest,” Kageyama responds immediately. 

“ _ Excuse me!? _ ” Oikawa shrieks, almost crashing their car in his indignation. Iwaizumi  _ howls _ with laughter and even Ushijima has to lift his hand to cover his grin. 

Kageyama startles from the reaction, “What?”

“I’m going to kick everyone out of this car and you’re all going to walk,” Oikawa threatens. 

Iwaizumi tries to quiet down his laughter, “Worth it, we’re almost there anyway.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines, offended. 

“Where are we going?” Kageyama asks again, remembering his initial aim with this conversation. 

“We are going to Tashirojima,” Ushijima responds helpfully.

“Okay,” Kageyama nods, satisfied. He looks back out the window, watching the other cars pass by, before he realizes he  _ isn’t _ satisfied, “Where is that? Is that where home is?”

“No,” Iwaizumi chuckles, “We live in Sendai.”

“I knew that,” Kageyama retorts back gruffly. He frowns at the ball in his lap, squeezing it through the blanket, “What’s Tashirojima?”

“Cat Island,” Oikawa replies, as he turns into a parking lot.

Kageyama’s eyebrows furrow, grip on the ball tightening as he sees the ocean come into view. His eyes widen when they park, and the adults around him start leaving the car. He scrambles to follow, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. 

“Leave the volleyball,” Oikawa states firmly without turning around, and Kageyama has no idea how he  _ knows _ he’s holding it. It stuns him a moment.

“Don’t want to lose it, right?” Iwaizumi adds, helping dislodge the ball from Kageyama’s grip and put it back in the car. 

Kageyama is distracted by the ocean. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he saw the ocean. Massive and all encompassing, reaching to the ends of the universe. He thinks he was little, and it was summertime, and he’d spent most of the day burying his own feet in the sand. 

It’s cold now, the wind pressing onto his cheeks, stinging them red. He stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, linking his fingers together so they fiddle with one another. 

“What’s going on?” Kageyama asks, louder, voice raising to combat the noise from the waves crashing the side of the dock a little ways ahead of them. 

“Have you ever taken a ferry, Kageyama?” Iwaizumi asks instead, leaning down to take his arm. Kageyama loosens his grip on himself so he can slip his hand free and hold Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi’s hands are warmer than his own.

“No,” Kageyama says.

“It’s a big boat that’s going to take us to the island,” Iwaizumi explains, pointing to one such contraption. Kageyama swallows, pressing closer to Iwaizumi’s leg as they walk. Oikawa seperates from them to go to the ticket booth, and Kageyama feels knots forming in his stomach. 

He’s never been on a boat before. 

“Why are we doing this?” he asks, and it feels like the tenth time he’s asked the question, and he hates it. Because he doesn’t like not knowing what’s happening. Or why it’s happening. And the ocean is loud in his ears, crashing against the rocks, and the spray sometimes flits across his face and he can’t help but flinch and he  _ hates _ it and he wants to go home and he doesn’t-- 

“Oh my God!” Oikawa  _ shrieks _ , interrupting all of them. Kageyama can feel how tense Iwaizumi suddenly becomes beside him at the noise. But then Oikawa is giggling along with his shrieking, and Iwaizumi relaxes instantly. 

And then Iwaizumi is shouting, and Kageyama’s hand is dropped in favor of rushing over toward the commotion. Kageyama blinks, standing still and confused. Forgotten. Well, not completely. Ushijima sidles closer to him.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi have abandoned them in favor of two other adults, standing just past the ticket stand waiting for the ferry. The newly founded foursome is chattering excitedly amongst each other. Kageyama looks up at Ushijima for answers, for anything.

“High school friends,” Ushijima explains, and then takes his hand to tug him toward the group. Kageyama wants to dig his feet in the gravel, tired from the car ride and in no mood to meet even  _ more _ people. But before he knows it, he’s standing among the grown ups, forced to look up at two new faces. He grimaces.

“It’s the Big Man!” the tallest stranger shouts, a grin overtaking his face as he claps Ushijima on the back. Ushijima gives a stiff nod in return. 

“And he’s got the Little Man with him!” the other stranger comments, leaning down to ruffle Kageyama’s hair. Kageyama slaps the hand away, hard, glaring at the offender. 

Iwaizumi gives an apologetic smile, “He’s a little shy,” he explains, ushering Kageyama to cling to him so he can squeeze his shoulder. Kageyama relaxes, leaning his head on Iwaizumi’s side. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa starts, clapping his hands together, effectively changing the subject, “This is Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-san,” he introduces, pointing at each stranger respectively.

Kageyama doesn’t say anything. 

“Are you also going to Tashirojima?” Ushijima asks. 

“What are the odds, right?” Hanamaki laughs, “But really, Issei and I needed a day trip asap and what’s better than seeing some cute cats. Especially when they’re so nearby?” he pauses a moment before giving Oikawa and Iwaizumi a pointed look, “Also, what the hell guys? You come back into town and you don’t even tell us?”

“Rude,” Matsukawa agrees. 

Oikawa lifts his hands up in surrender, “Slipped my mind,” he confesses, adding with a wicked smile, “I guess you both are just so forgettable.”

“Unbelievable,” Matsukawa gasps, hand coming up to his chest for added effect. 

“There’s been a lot going on,” Iwaizumi explains, mercifully. 

“I bet,” Hanamaki replies, “I still can’t believe you guys adopted a kid.”

“We’re fostering,” Oikawa is quick to correct. 

Kageyama squirms a little. He’d heard the word thrown around a lot but he’d always just assumed it meant the same thing as being adopted. But lately he’d gotten the inkling that maybe, it didn’t. An unease prickles under his skin and he squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand tighter instinctively. 

“Oh,” Hanamaki mumbles, “Well, still, that’s like, a lot.”

“I believe the ferry is here,” Ushijima interrupts, pointing out at the port. And he’s right. The big ship has settled itself at the end of the pier and Kageyama’s eyes widen. 

“Oh snap,” Hanamaki says, “Better get going before they make us swim over there instead.”

Kageyama’s grip is deathly, enough that Iwaizumi actually winces, looking down at the pale faced boy, “Kageyama?”

“No!” the boy screams, letting him go to stomp his feet, “I’m not! I’m not going!”

“Kage--”

But Kageyama has pulled away, and he’s hurrying backwards and  _ away _ , just,  _ away,  _ from the boat, from the ocean, from Iwaizumi. 

Pulling away from everything and everyone. 

Until he's all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meet the parents three times over is exhausting huh
> 
> this was so much fun to write and figure out family dynamics and personalities!!! i hope you guys like it. let me know what you think of them all!! im really curious
> 
> feel free to bother me on tumblr at findingschmomo.tumblr.com
> 
> until next time!


	8. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi doesn’t have the energy to be jealous of every person who falls in love with Oikawa Tooru because everybody at some point or another falls in love with Oikawa Tooru.

It’s a beautiful spring day. The sun is shining, but the air is still light and breezy. Finals are a distant thought and Iwaizumi wants the lunch hour to last forever. They’re on the quad, taking advantage of the good weather before their next seminar. It’s just the two of them, but not for very long.

Iwaizumi waves with his one hand, the other leaning back in the grass to support him. Ushijima’s eyes catch him in the distance, and he hurries his step. _It’s kind of cute_ , Iwaizumi thinks.

“Hello,” Ushijima greets, in his normal stiff way, nodding his head to the both of them before sitting down carefully with his tray of food. He pauses and Iwaizumi can see the cogs whirring in his brain as he tries to come up with the right way to approach the subject.

It’s all Iwaizumi can do not to start laughing.

Oikawa lets out a muffled groan, loud and pitiful and pathetic. Iwaizumi’s lips stretch into a wobbly smile.

“Is he alright?” Ushijima finally asks.

Oikawa is laying across Iwaizumi’s lap, face down in the grass just past his knee, looking like a limp piece of miserable wood washed ashore.

“You have to show him,” Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa’s back, in the spot he knows the man is ticklish.

Oikawa’s back arches instinctively, another whine pulled from his lips as he squirms, “No!” he shouts, “No one can see this!”

Ushijima frowns, and Iwaizumi can see real concern flit across his expression, duped by Oikawa’s theatrics. The poor guy. Iwaizumi gives him some mercy, “He bleached his hair.”

Oikawa sits up, on all fours, still sprawled over Iwaizumi’s lap. He turns his head to glare at Ushijima defensively, “It was going to be beautiful, Ushiwaka. Beautiful! Pale blonde hair!”

Ushijima nods, expectantly, eyes climbing up to the beanie currently shoved down Oikawa’s head.

Oikawa lets out an exasperated huff, sitting up properly and ripping the hat off his head, “It’s fucking _orange_! Orange!”

Iwaizumi laughs then, loud and unapologetic, “You look like a candle.”

“Shut up, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa seethes, “You’ve been incredibly unsupportive during my time of need.”

Iwaizumi laughs harder.

“You look more like a chandelier,” Ushijima supplies, waving his chopsticks in the air, “More regal.”

“That’s not better!” Oikawa cries, pulling at his hair. He lies down on his back, staring up into the sky in defeat, “I have to drop out.”

“Bye,” Iwaizumi says, taking the moment to steal some rice from Oikawa’s abandoned tray.

“I believe you might be overreacting,” Ushijima says, taking a sip of his water.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and neither of you are being at all sympathetic,” Oikawa whines, sitting up yet again, “I mean, I don’t expect anything from the robot, but Iwa-chan you’re my _boyfriend_ you’re supposed to _care_!”

Iwaizumi can’t help noticing the twitch in Ushijima’s hands, how his grip on his chopsticks tighten, how his golden eyes flick downwards, at Oikawa’s words. And Iwaizumi can’t help noticing the dip in his own heart at the sight, and it makes him nervous, palms sweaty and fearing the thoughts that have been plaguing him for weeks now.

He tries not to dwell on it, bringing a hand up to pat Oikawa’s shoulder, “There, there.”

Oikawa shrugs the hand off unconvinced.

Iwaizumi sighs, leaning back again and resting his head on his cocked up shoulder, “Just dye it another color.” He thinks a moment, bringing more rice up to his mouth, “Actually, Makki’s always wanted to fuck up your hair, let _him_ do it.”

Oikawa purses his lips, “He _is_ good at it…” he mutters to himself, picking at his grass.

“Makki?” Ushijima asks, reminding the pair of his presence. Oikawa keeps his thoughtful gaze on the ground, ignoring the question. He pulls out his phone to look at himself in the camera, fiddling with his orange-yellow hair with a grimace.

Iwaizumi smiles at Ushijima apologetically, “An old high school friend of ours.”

Ushijima nods, keeping his gaze on Oikawa’s twitching, golden eyes following the movement of his hands as they tug through the strands. Iwaizumi sees this and it stirs that sickly feeling in his stomach yet again and he wants to turn away.

He wishes it was jealousy, but he knows it’s not.

It’s much worse than that.

Ever since he met Ushijima last year, he’s known of the man’s huge crush on Oikawa. It was impossible _not_ to notice. The way he insisted on bullying his way through to every and all meetings and moments. The way the first few months he only looked at Oikawa, spoke to Oikawa, listened to Oikawa.

Even when Oikawa continuously ignored him, or worse, belittled and snapped at him in his sarcastic Oikawa way, he stuck around.

Iwaizumi has never been a jealous person. It’s impossible to be, when growing up beside a beacon of a boy like Oikawa, who attracted so many with his blinding light. Iwaizumi doesn’t have the energy to be jealous of every person who falls in love with Oikawa Tooru because _everybody_ at some point or another falls in love with Oikawa Tooru.

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa, better than he knows himself, and he trusts Oikawa, and that’s all that really matters in the end. There’s nothing to worry about with a bond like that.

So Iwaizumi had not thought anything of it when Ushijima pushed his way into their life. He never really had to do anything. Suitors eventually realized Oikawa was taken and backed off, and most of them got a taste of Oikawa’s personality long before that and ran for the hills.

(Which Iwaizumi always took secret offense to, because yeah Oikawa was a selfish, narcissistic, vain brat, but that was just the carefully crafted facade that masked the devoted, hardworking, silly boy he loved so deeply inside.)

 _And this is the issue with Ushijima_ , Iwaizumi thinks, eating another bit of rice.

Ushijima, who had received maybe the worst of Oikawa’s flavor of taunts and teases, had stayed steadfast at his side. Iwaizumi had seen the lingering looks grow more fond and loving over the past year despite it all. And the realization of it hit him a few weeks ago like a rock to the back of his head, doubling him completely over.

Ushijima gets it.

He gets how _absolutely wonderful_ Oikawa Tooru is.

And the thought of it makes Iwaizumi’s heart skip a bit.

And there lies the problem.

He can’t think about this anymore. He shoves more rice into his mouth, hoping the flurry of movement will hide the redness blossoming on his face from his traitorous thoughts.

He can’t dwell on it for much longer as the clock tower chimes and Oikawa and him realize they need to hurry to their next class.

* * *

It’s fine, Iwaizumi thinks, it’s _fine_.

“Thank you again for the aid, Iwaizumi,” Ushijima says, holding the door open with his foot so Iwaizumi can slip through.

Iwaizumi has his arms full of heavy fertilizer but he can’t complain because Ushijima has one bag in each arm like it’s nothing.

“It’s nothing,” Iwaizumi replies, doing his best not to let the strain show in his voice, “Where do you want this?”

“Along the wall,” Ushijima motions with a tilt of his head to the greenhouse’s left side, a clear spot devoid of plants. A hoe leans against the side, but other than that it’s clear of any tools as well.

Iwaizumi puts the bag down, stretching his arms to crack his back. Ushijima sets down his own two bags beside his.

Ushijima has his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the fabric around his biceps strains as he moves. His hands are bigger, bigger than Iwaizumi’s, but not as long as Oikawa’s. Thick. His skin is starting tan again, now that spring is here to stay, and Iwaizumi catches the line of pale skin hidden under his watch band.

He smiles.

He looks away quickly, swallowing and staring at the dirt, “Uh, need anything else?”

“No,” Ushijima responds, “You have done more than enough for me.”

Iwaizumi nods and can’t help but bring his hand out to pat Ushijima on the back as he makes his way out. He feels silly for doing it. Sillier for how the touch makes his stomach rock. Silliest when he practically runs away, feet carrying him hard and fast back to his small apartment right off campus.

Oikawa is sprawled out on his bed with his textbook in front of him. He has two pencils behind both ears, and one between his teeth. He flicks his gaze up at Iwaizumi as he enters but doesn’t offer any other kind of greeting.

Iwaizumi bites his lip, feels the familiar guilt growing in his stomach too much for him to bear. So he ventures forward, climbing onto the bed and disrupting Oikawa’s concentration to press his body against his back and wrap his arms around his neck.

Oikawa blinks, twisting his head back to catch sight of him, a question perched on his lips. Iwaizumi kisses him, helping him turn around so they’re facing each other, entangled on a bed and laying uncomfortably on crinkling paper.

“My, my, what a treat, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases with a soft smile, curling a hand to stroke Iwaizumi’s cheek, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The ocean sits in Iwaizumi’s stomach, and he doesn’t feel in a playful mood. He worries the water will spill over out of his eyes any second, so he buries his face in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, hoping the pressure keeps the waves at bay.

Oikawa hums, hand coming up to play through Iwaizumi’s dark hair, and sometimes it’s nice how easily Oikawa can read him, that he knows not to probe in this very moment, that Iwaizumi just wants to be held sometimes, and having that questioned would just draw him away.

He presses a kiss to Oikawa’s neck, murmuring a quiet, “I love you,” more for himself than anything. Because it’s true. The truest words he’s ever spoken.

Oikawa tugs him a bit closer, “I love you, too, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi knows that’s true too.

But the waves still crash against his ribcage and he worries they’ll bring his whole life down.

* * *

Iwaizumi had thought it would be a boring night. He should have known better.

He had not hung out with Matsukawa and Hanamaki since Oikawa and him had visited home last summer. Distance and time  had made him forget the energy and absurdity surrounding the troublesome duo. Iwaizumi isn’t sure how he survived three years of high school with them. Maybe he’s just getting old.

Regardless, he should have expected the both of them to show up at his doorstep with a trunk full of booze and manic grins on their faces when Oikawa informed him that he had invited the pair over for the weekend.

There’s a part of him that wants to fight this. He has a paper due monday he hasn’t started that’s worth a quarter of his final grade. They only reason he was in his apartment rather than at the library was Oikawa’s insistence on his presence, for moral support. But he hadn’t factored in getting wasted.

On the other hand, he’s _really_ missed his friends.

Him and Matsukawa are sitting cross legged on the floor, a laptop resting in front of them blasting one of the newest meme compilations his old friend had insisted he watch for educational purposes. Iwaizumi is distracted, however, alcohol warming his stomach, and eyes veering to peek at Oikawa through the bathroom door. His boyfriend is perched on the covered toilet seat, shirtless, with only a thin hand towel resting on his shoulders.

Iwaizumi can’t help drinking him up, slouched on the toilet, arms ramrod straight gripping the edge so he can lean on them, pushing his bony shoulders up. Iwaizumi wants to runs his hands over his chest, have his fingers dance against the three little freckles just under Oikawa’s left pec, and slide down near his belly button where he knows the boy is ticklish.

He wants to be near him.

He’s banned from the bathroom.

Oikawa’s eyes catch him staring, and he gives him a smug knowing smile, lifting up his chin to show off the pale expanse of neck. Iwaizumi scowls, turning to chug down the rest of the bottle in his grip. Oikawa laughs into his hand, before Hanamaki chides him for moving.

Hanamaki lords over Oikawa, with a black plastic bowl and a paintbrush dipped in bright pink viscous liquid. Oikawa eyes it suspiciously, “And you promise it will look good?”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, “Anything’s better than the mess you’ve made by yourself, Sunny D Boy.”

Matsukawa and Iwaizumi can’t help laughing at that, and how drunk they are makes them all the louder about it. Oikawa reddens, pursing his lips and glaring at the tiles beneath his bare feet. He wiggles his toes, and Iwaizumi wonders if the cold tile is freezing them. Oikawa’s always had poor circulation in his hands and feet.

He rises from the ground with some difficulty, wobbling his way over to the dresser in search of some socks for his boyfriend. He gets distracted, though, with his phone buzzing in his pocket. He slips it out.

_I hope you both are having fun with your friends tonight. I await many stories at lunch tomorrow._

It’s a text from Ushijima to their group chat. A very sweet, and thoughtful text and Iwaizumi can’t help the smile that grows on his face as he reads it. There’s a warmth blossoming in his chest separate from the alcohol in his gut, a deep and encompassing fondness.

“What is it?” Matsukawa asks, from his space now sprawled out on the carpet, eyebrow quirked up.

Iwaizumi forgets to force down his smile, “It’s Ushiwaka.”

“Who’s this Ushiwaka again?” Hanamaki calls from his station, painting strands of Oikawa’s hair and wrapping them in foil carefully. He alternates between the bright pink and deep purple he has set up, giving the hair a beautiful sort of depth.

“Oh my god, he’s so _annoying_ ,” Oikawa bemoans from his seat, kicking his feet up. Hanamaki taps his shoulder to remind him to stay still.

“He is _not_ ,” Iwaizumi counters, “You’re just too self, self-centered.”

“Question still unanswered,” Hanamaki reminds, bemused.

“He’s this guy in our year who hangs out with us,” Oikawa waves off, “He’s a robot. He’s a bio-business double major. He’s _massive_.”

“A giant,” Iwaizumi agrees, waving his arms out, “Taller than Matsun even, maybe, probably. We have lunch every day together. Sometimes dinner.”

“So, he’s your friend?” Matsukawa supplies with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says at the same time that Oikawa shouts, “Gross, no!”

Iwaizumi turns to Matsukawa, almost conspiratorially, putting a hand up to cover his mouth for good measure, “Ushiwaka has a crush on Oikawa.” He smiles.

Matsukawa blinks, “And you’re...ok with that?”

Iwaizumi stares at him incomprehensibly, “Dude, _everyone_ has a crush on Oikawa, at least until they get to know his personality,” he laughs, “It’s whatever.”

Matsukawa shrugs, taking another sip of his beer. But Iwaizumi isn’t done, and leans in a bit closer, “I think it’s kinda cute, honestly.”

Matsukawa squints at him, “It’s cute that someone’s crushing on your boyfriend?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, pulling back, “I don’t know. He’s like, this giant, tank of a guy. But he’s real delicate, especially with Oikawa, and it’s like, sweet, and stuff. How much he cares.”

“I think you’re a bit _too_ drunk, Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa chuckles awkwardly.

“What? Is that, is that weird or something?” Iwaizumi mutters.

“It’s a little weird.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to think about it being weird, about _him_ being weird. It’s a thought he’d recently quieted down after a lifetime of it plaguing him in the recesses of his mind, growing up in a small town with confusing feelings swirling all throughout his mind. The fact that it’s resurfacing stronger than ever makes his stomach roll in his gut. He can’t get nauseous now, not when Oikawa’s monopolizing the bathroom so thoroughly.

When he glances back he sees Oikawa has a head of tinfoil and if his stomach wasn’t so shaky he would have made a joke about aliens. As of now though he decides to lie down on his back in hopes the room will stop spinning.

Their ceiling fan hangs from the middle of their high ceiling, and sitting carefully atop one of the blades is one of Iwaizumi’s godzilla miniatures (one of the least expensive, a little trinket he got at an arcade once a long time ago). He cracks a grin.

He’d forgotten about that.

A few months ago, the three of them had been hanging out in this room. Iwaizumi was busy re-organizing his miniatures. Oikawa had snapped at him to give him some proper attention, and when that didn’t work had convinced Ushijima to take the offending figurine and put it where Iwaizumi couldn’t reach. Iwaizumi had been annoyed but it was all around pretty funny, and the fact that Ushijima was tall enough to easily place something atop their ceiling fan had silenced him for a few embarrassingly long seconds.

He puts his hands over his face, as if that would block out the nagging thoughts of Ushijima from his mind. Or the image of his shirt riding up as he stretched his arms out high, revealing taught skin and a trail of dark hair. As if.

“What are you doing to my boyfriend?” Oikawa calls from a distance, and Iwaizumi looks up to see Matsukawa perched above him with a sharpie in hand and a sheepish grin.

“Why you gotta ruin my fun?” Matsukawa sighs, shifting back. Iwaizumi can’t see into the bathroom with him blocking it with his body.

He’s not sure how long he’d been out of it, but he can hear a hairdryer going off in the bathroom so it must have been a good while. He sits up, groggy, a headache brewing in his forehead, right above his eye.

“What’s wrong, bud?” Matsukawa asks, and there’s concern flashing in his eyes for the first time that night as he lowers the sharpie, “You’ve been off this whole night.”

 _What’s wrong?_ Iwaizumi wonders, _I’m in love with Ushijima, that’s what’s wrong._

He stiffens a little, at the sudden silence in the room, and looks up to find three pairs of wide eyes staring down at him. Realization dawns on him as he brings his fingers up to his traitorous lips.

“I--” he starts, but Oikawa isn’t looking at him, can’t look at him, and instead he’s storming off out of the apartment all together, clad just in shorts and thin towel. “Oikawa!” Iwaizumi shouts, and after a helpless glance at the uncomfortable faces of his friends he dashes out to follow him.

He can feel his ribs cracking as the levees break free inside him and it all starts pouring out with every desperate step he takes.

* * *

Oikawa isn’t stupid.

He knows Ushijima has a crush on him, has known it since he first met him. The way Ushijima’s eyes had lingered on him a bit too long, how he was so eager to be in his presence even for the smallest of moments. It was obvious. It was normal. It happened all the time.

Even when he stayed it didn’t affect him. People don’t usually stay for long, they get tired, they realize Oikawa has zero interest in them, they leave. Ushijima stayed, and it was odd, Oikawa must admit, how he remained his stalwart robot self the entire time. Not the best seduction method, but endearing all the same, Oikawa thinks through gritted teeth.

What he had not expected, was Iwaizumi.

Oikawa isn’t stupid.

Oikawa had spent the majority of his life studying Iwaizumi. Picking him apart, teasing him, testing him, doing his best to understand him in every way. Had spent a lifetime over analyzing every touch, every glance, ever harsh tap and soft smile. Had agonized over casua friendlyl _I love you_ s for years and years until finally getting the courage to confess.

And here he was, witness to those same fond smiles that were supposed to be for _him_ , that sweet tilt of the face, the endearing shake of a head, that easy smile. But witness, only, because they were directed to someone else.

 _Ushijima_ , of all people.

Although, Oikawa gets it, in that half of his heart reserved for self loathing. He gets it completely. Ushijima is tall, taller than him. He’s stronger than him, with arms like tree trunks and thighs made of stone. He’s handsome too, face chiseled and eyes shining gold. He’s even dorky, endearingly smart but then obviously stupid over the most common of things.

His hands are big and yet their touch is gentle on the most fragile of plants.

It’s infuriating, how perfect he is. How Oikawa, despite all his bravado, is really no match for him at all.

Oikawa hates losing, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. But he hadn’t even known he was in a game to begin with, or that Iwaizumi’s heart was something he could lose at all at this point.

Oikawa isn’t stupid.

So when Iwaizumi confesses, aloud, that _I’m in love with Ushijima_ , it does not come as a surprise. But it does become real. A certain thing that sucks the air out of his lungs and the room all together. That takes the self doubt always leeching off his heart and swells it grotesquely, until its the heaviest weight in his chest he’s ever had to carry. It suffocates him, and he can’t bear to look at Iwaizumi and accept it all.

So he takes the cowards route.

He runs.

* * *

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi calls, again and again, trying to catch up to his boyfriend, who’s speeding off into the night, “Tooru, wait!”

Oikawa doesn’t want to wait. Doesn’t want to turn around and face this. Face this issue that he’s been doing his very best to ignore. That sickly feeling fermenting in his heart whenever he’s seen Iwaizumi’s eyes drift away from him. He doesn’t want to hear any of it.

Iwaizumi manages to grab his arm and force him to stop. Oikawa keeps his head down and away. He doesn’t want to look at him, to see him.

“Tooru, I’m _sorry_.”

And that’s the last thing Oikawa wants to hear. He’d rather have _just kidding_ or _psyche_ or _haha i can’t believe you believed me back there!_ Not _I’m sorry_ . _I’m sorry_ means it’s _true_.

He swallows thickly and tries to wrench his arm free.

“Tooru _look_ at me, please, please don’t turn away,” Iwaizumi pleads, and there’s a shallowness in his breath so unlike the steady strong Iwaizumi he loves that it pangs him deep inside, “Please, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, I--”

“You’re breaking up with me,” Oikawa whispers to the air and feels the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes. _This was inevitable_ , Oikawaa thinks, _no good thing lasts forever._

“No!” Iwaizumi shouts, fingers digging into his wrist, “I’m not! I don’t, I don’t want that.”

Oikawa rips his hand away finally, turning around violently, “But you love _him!”_

Iwaizumi stares at him and there are tears at the edges of _his_ eyes, which is something Oikawa never wants to see. And it’s not fair.

“When did I ever say I stopped loving _you_ ,” Iwaizumi insists, trying to reach for Oikawa again, but Oikawa isn’t having it. He takes a step back.

“That’s not how it _works_ ,” Oikawa growls, anger rising in his stomach to fight back the agony, “What are you saying?”

Iwaizumi swallows and he wilts, hands dropping to his sides, “I know,” he hisses, bringing one hand up in a balled up fist to wipe at his wet face, “It doesn’t, it doesn’t make sense but, it’s like, it’s not an either or, for me. It’s _both_. It’s both, each a different way and I can’t explain it, I--”

“Stop it, Hajime,” Oikawa hisses, because he doesn’t want to hear it.

Iwaizumi’s knees bend from the weight of his misery, and his other hand joins to try to stop the barrage of tears as he shakes. It’s embarrassing, and terrible, but he’s breaking down, the flood waters gushing forth from deep inside him, pent up for much too long. Because when Iwaizumi feels things, he feels them wholeheartedly and it’s all he can do to just ride them out.

Oikawa turns away because if he looks at him he’ll break too, and he’s angry, he _wants_ to be angry, to stay angry.

But then he catches Iwaizumi’s next words and it’s too much for him. “I think I’m broken,” Iwaizumi confesses, through hitched breaths, “There’s something wrong, wrong with me, something really wrong. Because I love you, I love you so much Tooru, but I do, I do love him the same and different, and most of all,” he takes a shaky breath, “Most of all, I love the way he loves _you_.”

Oikawa needs to leave. He can’t listen to this drunken nonsense. He can’t bear to see Iwaizumi cry any longer, his own tears ready to burst. He wants to hug him and hold him close but that would be losing, wouldn’t it?

“You’re not broken,” Oikawa hisses, despite it all, wiping his tears away, “Don’t ever say that again. How many times do I have to tell you you’re not _broken_.”

“Tooru--”

“I have to go,” Oikawa continues, turning away fully, “I need, I need to go. I can’t..I just…” he doesn’t finish, he can’t finish. There’s nothing to finish. There’s just nothing left in him at all.

He walks away.

Iwaizumi punches the tree near him. He thinks of Ushijima, getting upset over that, and an unprecedented fury builds in him. He claws at the bark, skinning the plant before moving on to rip off one of it’s thinner branches. Until he feels stupid and miserable and splinters are coating his fingers.

* * *

 

Ushijima sits down at the normal lunch spot with his tray of food. He sits in silence, picking at his meal, watching students walk by, chatting and laughing. He keeps his eyes out for his lunch companions, but neither walk through the doors at any point.

He pulls his phone out, sending a text to the group chat but it remains unanswered, the group chat having been eerily silent for a long time. Eventually, his watch beeps and he gets up for his next seminar.

He eats his meals alone the rest of the week, for reasons he can’t really put together. He barely catches sight of Oikawa on campus, and he begins to wonder if Iwaizumi is even still around, until he finds him outside the science center.

He corners him there, “Iwaizumi, I have not seen you.”

“Oh, uhh, hey,” Iwaizumi swallows, and he keeps his eyes locked on his phone screen.

Ushijima frowns, “Are you alright? I have missed you.”

Iwaizumi stiffens, shoving his phone in his pocket, “Sorry. Homework and stuff. I have to go.” And he pushes off the wall and away from him, shouldering his bag and skipping off to the engineering building. But Ushijima knows he does not have a class there. Iwaizumi is not an engineering major.

He scowls at the ground, kicking an idle rock in his path.

Oikawa is easier to find, for some reason, and the fact that the duo or not together makes Ushijima queasier than he would like to admit.

“Oikawa,” he calls.

Oikawa moves to walk away, which Ushijima had expected, so he reaches his hand out to grab his wrist and keep him still. The other boy lets out a sigh and looks back at him, “What do you want, Ushiwaka?”

“Must you call me that?” Ushijima can’t help but say.

“Must you bruise my wrist?” Oikawa counters with a raised eyebrow.

Ushijima let’s go immediately, “I apologize, was I hurting you?”

Oikawa lets out a sigh through his nose, waving the worry off, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oikawa,” Ushijima starts, and he tries to think of the right words, falling silent for a long time, “Is, is everything alright?”

“No,” Oikawa spits, crossing his arms, “Nothing’s alright.”

Ushijima frowns, and Oikawa finds the way his shoulders droop akin to a flower wilting. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

And he’s so damn sincere about it, too.  

It infuriates him.

“Why are you doing this, Ushijima?” Oikawa snaps, suddenly, tone shifting and arms raising to rest on his hips.

“I am worried?” Ushijima explains, tilting his head a little, “Iwaizumi looks very upset and--”

“Why do you care about Iwaizumi?” Oikawa interrupts, eyes flashing, “When _I’m_ the one you’re in love with? Hmm?”

Ushijima stares at him, eyes wide and face paling, “I, I do not understand.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Ushijima,” Oikawa seethes, “You got what you wanted. We’ve broken up. You can drop the act,” his smile stretches to his eyes, thin and hollow,  “I’m all yours,” he spits.

Ushijima’s lips parts, “That isn’t--”

Oikawa turns away to storm off, because he doesn’t want to hear it.

Doesn’t want to hear anything.

Ever.

Again.

* * *

It’s hard to stay mad at each other.

Anger, _real_ anger, does not stick to either of them for long when it’s directed at each other. Harder now when they live together. Harder now when they love each other to the extent they do.

Time wears down all wounds. There is no singular moment, no sudden epiphany, no explosion. There are just little things and they build and build, pebbles into stones creating makeshift bridges, each of them doing their best to fill the gaps between the broken pieces. Perhaps not perfectly, but enough to connect them.

Iwaizumi cleans up after himself without nagging. He does the dishes whenever he sees them because he knows Oikawa hates it. Oikawa keeps the bathroom counter free of his products, and he orders extra tofu when he gets delivery and leaves it on the counter.

There’s a day, when Iwaizumi is doing homework at the little kitchen table, and Oikawa is a little ways away on the couch with his laptop on his knees, and the silence is no longer deafening, but rather comfortable. There is less tension in the air. There is room to breathe.

And Oikawa speaks up, quiet but heard, because Iwaizumi had stopped reading the page a long time ago, “I’m a selfish person by nature, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi looks over at him, eyes soft and smile sad, “It’s ok.”

“I’m terrible at sharing,” Oikawa continues, holding his gaze.   
  
There’s a new kind of silence in the room, a heated one, hot like the sudden burning in Iwaizumi’s eyes. He stands up and comes over, sitting down on the couch beside Oikawa, inches apart, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you,” Oikawa replies, closing his laptop and pushing to the side, “And you’re always pushing me to be better, fixing all my rotten qualities.”

“You’re not rotten,” Iwaizumi hisses.

“You’re not broken,” Oikawa counters, before taking in another breath, “Don’t interrupt me or I’ll slap you.”

“With your weak baby wrists?” Iwaizumi teases, taking Oikawa’s hands in his like they’re the most delicate things he’s ever held.

Oikawa smiles despite it all, watching how easily Iwaizumi’s hands can encircle his wrists, “I’ve been thinking a lot. Too much, probably. As I do, and, I thought, _of course_ , the universe would have Iwa-chan fall in love with such an annoying giant to force me to be better. And I should have known your giant sappy good heart had room for more than just me. And the fact that I can even say this means you must be having an effect on me, you scoundrel.”

“Oikawa, you don’t, you don’t have to---”

Oikawa shakes his head, “I want my Iwa-chan to be happy, most of all.” His voice is small when he says it, but sure.

“Tooru, but I want _you_ to be happy, too.”

Oikawa smiles, taking a hand back to push his pink fringe out of his eyes. Iwaizumi lifts a hand to help him, smiling too, “Your hair is amazing, by the way. Never got the chance to tell you.”

Oikawa snorts, teeth peeking out of his smile, “I’ve been googling around, about, about all this and, it’s not, I guess the stuff you were saying isn’t as out there as I thought.”

Iwaizumi blinks.

“We can try,” Oikawa continues, and it sounds like he’s saying it more to himself, “Being more, uh, open. I guess it’s only fair, I’ve monopolized you for all your life. Until now anyway,” he chuckles, but it’s not as mirthful as it should be.

Then uncertainty rips through him, like it always does, and he can’t help the way his grip tightens, “But will you still love me?” he asks, and he hates how shaky he sounds.

“I love you,” Iwaizumi says again. He leans up to kiss him at the corner of his lips, “That’s never going to change.”

Oikawa tilts his head away, “How can you be so sure?”

“There’s never been a doubt in my mind,” Iwaizumi assures, and when he says that Oikawa believes him, down into the marrow of his bones, strong and steady. He throws his arms around him, pulling him tight, never wanting to let him go.

They spend the night on the couch together.

* * *

“You’re making this weird,” Iwaizumi mutters.

“You started this nonsense,” Oikawa counters, taking a sip from his frozen cappuccino. He offers it to Iwaizumi who waves it away wordlessly, “I’m helping you.”

“Maybe this is the world telling us this is dumb. We should just stop,” Iwaizumi continues, fingers drumming on the tabletop.

“You put me through hell these past few weeks just to give up? Hell no, you’re asking him out if it kills me,” Oikawa huffs, sucking down on the straw harshly, making a noise that scratches at Iwaizumi’s ears.

“What if he doesn’t show?” Iwaizumi insists, nervously.

“He’ll show,” Oikawa says.

“How can you be so sure?”

Oikawa nods his head at the door, “Because I see him coming toward us.”

Iwaizumi sits up straighter, while Oikawa leans back to grab a chair from a neighboring empty table. He drags it over. Ushijima nods to the both of them stiffly before taking the offered seat.

“Do you want to go order a drink?” Oikawa asks.

“I have water,” Ushijima declines, holding up the metal bottle attached to his bag. It’s decorated with a single sticker from the law firm Oikawa interned at over winter break. He remembers handing those out for a social media campaign, asking for votes. His heart squeezes uncomfortably at the sight of it.

Stupid, stupid, sincere Ushijima.

“We’re sorry,” Iwaizumi blurts out, “For ignoring you the past couple weeks. We shouldn’t have.”

Ushijima nods, “I accept your apology.”

Oikawa snorts, biting the straw in his mouth.

Ushijima doesn’t comment, continuing, “I would like to apologize as well, if, if my presence has in anyway become cumbersome for you both.”

“Don’t apologize for being our friend,” Iwaizumi hushes him.

Ushijima blinks, something warm enveloping his chest, his heart unfurling to bask in it at the statement. _Friends_ , he realizes, _we are friends_.

“Ushiwaka-chan, have you ever been in a relationship before?” Oikawa asks, suddenly, putting his near empty cup on the small circle table.

Ushijima shakes his head, “I have not.”

Oikawa cradles his chin on the palm of his hand, “Do you know what an open relationship is?”

Iwaizumi glares at his lap, redness growing on his face. _It’s cute_ , Oikawa thinks, but he’s too focused on taking in Ushijima’s reactions to tease him for it.

“I do not,” Ushijima responds.

Oikawa smiles, flicking his gaze down to stir his drink with his straw, pushing around the chocolate chips at the bottom, “It’s when a couple decides not to be completely monogamous,” he looks over at Iwaizumi for a moment, but the man won’t look up to add anything, so he continues on, “Sometimes people need more than one person to make them happy.”

Ushijma nods slowly, “I suppose that makes sense.” Iwaizumi looks up at him curiously and Ushijima shrugs, “Plants can survive with water, but they also need good soil to thrive.”

Oikawa bursts out into laughter, banging a fist on the table as he doubles over, tension easing off his shoulders, “Oh my _God_ ,” he breathes, wiping a tear from his eyes, “You’re such a _dork_ , holy shit.”

Ushijima frowns.

Oikawa lifts his head up, smiling at Iwaizumi, “No wonder you love him, huh?”

“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi hisses, redness creeping down his neck, “You’re not helping.”

Ushijima feels a bit lost, as he tends to be when the pair step back into the whirlwind of each other, he clears his throat, “Is there a reason you are telling me this?”

He’s met with silence. Iwaizumi keeps his gaze on the table. Oikawa takes another sip of his drink, flicking his foot up to kick Iwaizumi in the ankle, making the shorter man glare at him fiercely. Iwaizumi swallows then, looking at Ushijima for the first time this entire conversation.

“Would you like to go out to dinner?” he licks his lips, “Like, as a, as a date?”

And even though he’d teased and giggled, Oikawa falls silent when he hears it aloud, fingers crinkling his plastic cup and gaze looking past the both of them at the wall far away.

He counts to ten.

* * *

Oikawa’s mind never stops spinning, retelling tales from every span of his life, always and forever. Constantly rehashing, rethinking, recounting. It’s enough to make anyone sick if they haven’t lived with it their whole life. The memory resurfaces when Kageyama breaks free of them, unrelated, unwarranted, and it makes his anxious heart beat all the more quicker. _Why think of it now?_

Matsukawa is moving before anyone else, and maybe it is his and Hanamaki’s presence that digs up the old wound, Oikawa wonders. The scabbed over cut in his heart, long since mended, a pain he thinks of almost fondly now. A scar that draws out the prettiest of patterns, stitching Iwaizumi and Ushijima tightly to him.

He watches, too caught up in his reeling mind as Matsukawa picks up Kageyama before he can get very far, holding him up with his hands hooked under his armpits. Kageyama goes limp from the shock of it all, hanging in the air wide eyed and confused, staring down at his feet.

“Woah there,” Matsukawa says, putting the boy back down on the ground, “Wrong way, bud. You got cold feet?”

Kageyama stares at him.

“No worries, lil guy,” Matsukawa continues with a wave of his hand, keeping his attention “I get nauseous on boat rides too. Here, I’ll let you in on a secret.”

Kageyama blinks.

Matsukawa crouches closer, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth from view of the other adults. Still, his whisper is theatrically loud, “If you listen to music and don’t look out, it’s like you’re not even on the water at all.”

Kageyama’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Really,” Matsukawa nods, reaching to slip off the thick headphones he has around his neck, “Here, you can borrow mine for the trip.” He slips the headphones over Kageyama’s ears before fishing his phone out and handing it to him, “Pick your poison, just don’t play it too loud.”

“He might drop it,” Oikawa can’t help but warn.

Matsukawa shrugs, “I trust him not to chuck it into the ocean. It’s all good. Right,little man?” He ruffles the boy’s hair, and Kageyama doesn’t even flinch, too enthralled swiping through the songs on the device in his hand.

Ushijima takes his other hand securely, helping to lead him toward the boat without anymore fuss at all. Hanamaki claps Matsukawa’s back, murmuring words no one else needs to here. Oikawa lets out a deep breath before following after them.

And Iwaizumi sees this all with rocks grinding in his stomach. He sees Oikawa’s anxious form and Ushijima’s stiff arms. And he sees Matsukawa, calm and confident, his hand holding Hanamaki’s and the other pointing out songs to Kageyama with the little boy nodding along.

And Iwaizumi can’t help but wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see huh?
> 
> its been a rough few months. i actually re-wrote this chapter three different ways and struggled through writers block. i hope you guys enjoy what i ended up with!!! 
> 
>  
> 
> til next time!


	9. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i love you's_ rarely have to be said in order to be felt

By the time they reach the island, Kageyama feels a newfound energy tingling in his legs. When the ship docks and the adults start standing up Kageyama is already on his feet, ready to go. He forgets to wait, darting away only to be reeled back by Oikawa’s quick hand on his shoulder. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, sliding Kageyama’s head phones off the top of his head, “Time to come back.”

Kageyama nods, blinking up at him. 

“Give it back to Matsu-chan,” Oikawa orders. 

Kageyama nods, carefully taking off the headphones from around his neck and offering them along with the phone back to their proper owner. Matsukawa smiles at him and its safe. Kageyama wants to smile back but he’s too scared it will come out wrong. He grimaces instead.

“What do we say?” Oikawa reminds.

“Thanks,” Kageyama mumbles. 

Hanamaki snorts, “Wow, Oikawa, when was the last time you ever said thank you?”

“Having a kid changed you,” Matsukawa agrees. 

Oikawa glares at the pair, lip jutting out petulantly at the comment. He glances over at his boyfriends for support only to find them looking anywhere else and doing their best not to laugh (Iwaizumi failing completely in that endeavor). 

Oikawa glowers, “Traitors, the lot of you. Come on, let’s go.”

Oikawa pushes Kageyama forward, leading him off the boat and onto the small island. Kageyama squints as the sun hits his eyes, having a hard time adjusting to the brightness. Oikawa leads him away from the beach, further inland to a clear spot off the path away from people to wait to regroup. 

Once everyone is back together the adults start discussing lunch plans. Kageyama is starving and very interested. But he has trouble following along, especially when his attention is grabbed by a sudden intruder.

Curiously stepping into view is an all black cat with piercing green eyes. Kageyama’s fingers squeeze tightly into his palms, and he feels himself ducking behind Ushijima instinctively. Ushijima looks down at him before seeing the feline ahead. 

His hand comes to rest on Kageyama’s head, and he doesn’t ruffle his hair like Iwaizumi does, but just leaves is it there and the pressure feels grounding. Kageyama pushes himself closer. 

“Oh snap, we already got a kitty,” Hanamaki interrupts the planning committee, crouching down and beckoning the cat with his hand. Kageyama stares transfixed as the black cat cautiously makes its way toward him, nudging the hand with its nose before rubbing its face against it. A grin breaks out on Hanamaki’s face as he pulls his hand up to scratch the cat behind the ears. Matsukawa snaps a picture with his phone. 

“Wanna pet her, Kageyama?” Hanamaki asks, other hand beckoning him in a similar fashion. Kageyama swallows hesitantly. Ushijima’s hand slips down to the base of his neck, nudging him forward, and Kageyama carefully steps toward Hanamaki. 

“You hold your hand out so she can sniff you first,” Hanamaki explains, pulling back, “Don’t ever just touch a cat, they’ll bite.”

Kageyama nods sympathetically, holding his hand out. The cat sniffs it but the blare of the boat leaving port makes it scurry off. Kageyama frowns at the failure. Hanamaki pats his back reassuringly, “Next time.”

Kageyama nods grimly, and it’s only after he stands by Ushijima that he realizes he hadn’t stiffened at the touch at all. 

“Alright,” Oikawa claps his hands, “I’m starving! Iwa-chan work your magic.”

Iwaizumi snorts, but stretches his arms out to crack his knuckles, “Aye, aye captain,” he sighs, leading the way up the path in search of a place to eat. Oikawa falls into step with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, while Ushijima and Kageyama take the rear, hands linked together. 

Kageyama keeps his grip tight. Most of the people they pass by are old and wrinkly, faces sagging so much Kageyama can’t figure out if their smiles are safe or not (or even smiles at all). There are cats  _ everywhere,  _ slinking about, dashing across and meowing every now and then near store windows. It makes him jumpy, not that he would ever admit it. 

Iwaizumi finds them a hole in the wall, ushering them inside the dimly lit restaurant. Sushi’s what seems to be on the menu, with fresh fish caught right on the little island. Everyone orders rolls and when Kageyama takes too long to choose, Oikawa takes the menu away from him, “You can try one from all our plates.”

Kageyama grumps, kicking at the floor under the table but keeps his head down. It’s small in the restaurant, stuffy and loud from the other patrons. A white cat trots in through the open door heading straight for a water bowl in the corner. Kageyama watches her intently. 

“So you’ve become the old dudes we used to make fun of, huh?” Iwaizumi comments, taking a sip of his water. 

“Brutal burn from grandpa over here,” Matsukawa replies with a theatrical wince, “At least we’re getting back into the game!”

“Grandpa? You’re both older than all of us,” Iwaizumi reminds with a stern point of his finger. 

“Ushiwaka’s our precious baby,” Oikawa adds, squeezing his cheek from across the table. Ushijima lets go of Kageyama’s hand to swat him away. 

“I am a grown man.”

The four let out a laugh, only quieting when the food is placed in front of them. Iwaizumi pops a roll into his mouth, finishing the bite before he speaks up again, “So, what’s it like though? Is it actually any fun?”

“Honestly, a lot more fun than I expected,” Hanamaki hums, “I mean, granted, Matsun joined with me so it was less awkward. But yeah, it took a few weeks to get back into shape but hell I missed spiking balls.”

“It’s definitely different,” Matsukawa continues, wiping his mouth with his napkin, “Like, I mean, in high school volleyball was everything. Now it’s just something fun we get to do on the weekends. It’s a lot chiller. You’re just doing it for the fun of it really.”

“Are there tournaments?” Ushijima asks. 

Matsukawa smiles, “There’s like neighborhood stuff, but no not really. I mean, who has the time to train for that now a days?”

“I suppose,” Ushijima sighs. 

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi calls, “Come eat before it’s all gone.”

“What’s he doing?” Oikawa asks, craning his neck around. He sees the boy squatting a foot or so away from the white cat, staring at it intently with deep a set frown. 

“Trying to poison it with his mind?” Hanamaki suggests. 

Matsukawa chuckles, “Man that boy can frown. It’s amazing.”

“Tobio-chan! If you touch it you have to wash your hands before eating so just come back over to the table!”

Kageyama hesitates a moment, but decides to walk back over to the table, taking a seat beside Ushijima on the bench once again. 

Oikawa stands up a little, taking an extra plate and grabbing a piece from each dish to form a little array. He sets it down in front of the boy.

Kageyama picks up his chopsticks. He recognizes some of the rolls though he can’t remember what kind of fish is in any of them or their names. He’d never really bothered to remember. He pokes at one. 

“Don’t play with your food,” Oikawa snaps. 

Kageyama frowns harder. 

“I have an idea,” Hanamaki offers, leaning over so Kageyama can see him better past Matsukawa and Oikawa, “Kageyama, give us a review of each one, so we know who here has the best taste in sushi.”

“Kageyama only likes bland food, this isn’t fair,” Oikawa counters. 

Matsukawa pumps a fist into the air, “Hell yeah, I’m going to win.” He turns toward Kageyama reaching a hand over to him, “You can’t handle spice either, lil bro? It’s a tough world out there for us, give me five.”

Kageyama flinches back, staring at the hand. Matsukawa waits a second before pulling his hand back, “Well, here I am, hand in the air.” He searches the table, “Listen, I physically cannot put my hand down until someone high fives it.”

Ushijima high fives it. 

Matsukawa grins at him, raising his glass. Hanamaki ducks his head to his boyfriend’s shoulder to cover his laugh. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Iwaizumi shakes his head, but the smile doesn’t fall from his face. 

“We’re  _ fun _ , Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki counters, “Good at parties. Jovial. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi replies, holding his hands up in surrender, “Just commenting.”

“Go on, Kageyama,” Ushijima says, nudging the plate, “Eat.”

Kageyama takes a bite of his first piece, “This one is okay,” he says. 

“Solid,” Hanamaki grins.

Kageyama eats the next one, mouth puckering up in distaste. Oikawa helps him reach for his water, “This one’s gross.”

“I like it spicy,” Iwaizumi shrugs.

Kageyama wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes his third piece, “This one is okay.”

Matsukawa gives a half smile. 

The fourth one has Kageyama grimacing, “That one sucks. I hate that one.”

“Eel is an acquired taste,” Ushijima remarks. 

Kageyama finishes his plate, taking his time to chew the last one, “That one was okay.”

Oikawa snorts. 

“A born food critic,” Hanamaki nods, “Painted me so many word pictures.”

“He should start a blog,” Matsukawa agrees.

“Can we go now?” Kageyama asks, shoving the plate back. Ushijima is quick to grab his glass before it tips over from being knocked into. 

“Behave, Tobio,” Oikawa flashes him a look. Kageyama glares right back. Iwaizumi motions for the check from the waiter. Oikawa’s eyes shift to Ushijima and the taller man nods, putting his napkin down on the table and nudging Kageyama to get up.

He leads the boy outside, letting him kick at the ground as much as he wants. Kageyama lets out an annoyed huff with a sense of finality as he manages to kick a rock the size of his big toe a few meters away. 

“Are you feeling better?” Ushijima asks. 

Kageyama shrugs. 

“Kageyama,” Ushijima asks again, “You can pick what to do next. Do you want to go to the beach?”

Kageyama looks out at the ocean and shudders, giving a quick shake of his head. 

Ushijima nods, “There is a shrine up the hiking trail,” he points, “Want to go see it?”

Kageyama shrugs. 

“We could test your ability to name plants as we walk.”

“Okay,” Kageyama says a bit more eagerly, giving a quick nod.

They wait a few more moments for the rest of the party to join them outside. The hike up is a gentle slope through beautiful wooded area. A canopy of trees above them in countless shades of oranges and reds. Kageyama stares at them wide eyed. 

The walk is mostly quiet. Kageyama gains more energy from the silence, squirming away from Iwaizumi’s hand to dash this way and that by the path. Never too far or else Oikawa shouts at him to come back. He asks Ushijima questions about each and every tree they pass, and Ushijima stops the entire journey so he can take a picture of a specific plant he spotted sprouting on the edge of the stone path. 

“Does he always do this?” Matsukawa comments.

“It’s cute,” Oikawa defends, not looking away from Ushijima’s concentrated hunched over form, as he types out the plant species in his note app. “He has a scrapbook.”

“It is a field book,” Ushijima corrects, straightening up, “We may continue.”

Oikawa jabs at Ushijima’s side playfully and Ushijima grabs his arm in turn, tugging him closer so he can pick him up with horrifying ease. Oikawa shrieks as Ushijima puts him over his shoulder, “No! Iwa-chan! Help me!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t change his pace, walking directly behind them, giving OIkawa a grin, “You got yourself in this mess.”

Oikawa punches at Ushijima’s back with no real force, legs doing their best to flail about despite the strong grip on his calves. 

“Weren’t you  _ just _ complaining about walking up here?” Hanamaki muses. 

Oikawa sends him a look, “You’re all traitors,” he decides, “I hate all of you. Every single one.”

Ushijima winces, pausing to look down to see Kageyama kicking his shin. He stops walking, “Kageyama.”

“Stop!” Kageyama shouts, kicking him again, “Put him down!”

Ushijima blinks, putting Oikawa down awkwardly. Oikawa straightens up but doesn't pull away, looking down at the furious boy.

“Tobio, you shouldn’t kick Ushijima-san,” Oikawa chides.

“He was being mean,” Kageyama counters.

“You don’t kick people, remember?” Oikawa continues, “We were just playing.”

“That’s stupid,” Kageyama mutters, turning away. 

“That was cool of you, Kageyama,” Matsukawa says instead, “Trying to play hero like that. Very spunky,” he comes over and ignores the look Oikawa sends him, “But would Ushijima ever  _ actually _ be mean to Oikawa?”

Kageyama shrugs. 

“So just make sure next time, bud,” Matsukawa taps his shoulders, “We’re almost to the shrine. Did you know it’s covered in cat statues, like fifteen in all.  Do you think we can find them all?”

“I can do it,” Kageyama assures with a quick nod, legs speeding up on the path. Matsukawa follows after him. 

Hanamaki watches them go with a fond smile, looking over at the trio, “It’s crazy what having three younger sisters does to a man,” he sighs fondly, before taking down the path after the two of them. 

Oikawa purses his lips, tapping Ushijima’s shoulder, “Ushiwaka crouch down, let me get on you.”

“What?”

“We can’t have Tobio thinking I hate being on your back when it’s one of my favorite modes of transportation. Come now, carry me the rest of the way.”

“This seems all too convenient for you,” Ushijima mutters, bending over obediently all the same, if only to get back on Kageyama’s good graces. Oikawa’s smile shines with faux innocence as he hopes on, wrapping his arms around Ushijima’s neck.

“Onwards!” Oikawa orders, and Ushijima adjusts his grip on his thighs before heading back onto the trail. 

Iwaizumi watches them and feels the rocks grinding against his insides, thinking of Matsukawa, and he can’t help but wonder. 

* * *

There’s only fourteen statues surrounding the shrine, but it keeps Kageyama occupied long enough for the adults to sit down for a spell. Hanamaki and Matsukawa sit in the shade of a tree together, sharing an orange Hanamaki had procured from his drawstring bag.

Iwaizumi lies across a bench, head pillowed in Ushijima’s lap and arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun, or whatever rays are able to reach him despite Ushijima’s broad shoulders in the way. 

Oikawa has his phone out, wielding it like a weapon. “No, stay like that,” he orders, taking pictures of Hanamaki and Matsukawa before grimacing at the darkness of the photo, “Actually can you switch trees?”

“The point is to be in the shade, Oikawa,” Matsukawa reminds.

Oikawa huffs, turning back round to take a picture of his boyfriends instead. Iwaizumi refuses to sit up or unblock his face, but he throws up a peace sign as a compromise. Ushijima stares squarely at the camera.

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa calls, “Come stand in front of the shrine.”

“Busy,” Kageyama mutters, where he’s trying to crawl under the broken wood pile near the shrine, hoping to find the elusive fifteenth statue. 

“You’re getting dirty!” Oikawa chides, coming over to haul the boy out of the dirt by the back of his shirt. Kageyama flails like a fish out of water but Oikawa is undeterred, taking the moment to straighten out Kageyama’s long sleeve shirt and rumpled shorts. He re-ties his left shoe lace and licks his thumb to rub away some dirt from his cheeks. Kageyama growls at this in disgust, trying to swat him away. 

“Don’t make me angry,” Oikawa warns, shooeing the arm away, “Come on, we need a picture of you.”

“Why?” Kageyama demands, grumpily.

“Memories,” Oikawa states. 

“That’s stupid. Memories live in your skull.” 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines, turning his head over to them for help. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t lift his head, “Let him take your picture, Kageyama,” he says, adding, “ All your Oba-chans want to see you.”

Kageyama huffs, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt to keep them from hitting Oikawa away. Oikawa ushers him in front of the shrine, stepping back to take a picture, “Smile, Tobio.”

Kageyama doesn’t smile.

Oikawa sighs, “Fine, be grumpy.” He takes a few more pictures, making Kageyama pose near a statue, and then near an especially beautiful tree. There are several cats lounging near the area, but Kageyama’s ungraceful stomping has them scurrying away before he can get very near. 

“Cats are stupid,” Kageyama comments, after another failed attempt to pet one. 

“You must be patient,” Ushijima murmurs, “Look at Iwaizumi.”

Although Ushijima had stood up from his seat to help Oikawa in his picture taking endeavors, Iwaizumi had remained half asleep on the bench, and at some point a cat had climbed atop him for its own nap on his chest. 

Kageyama frowns. 

“Iwa-chan, don’t move!” Oikawa calls, scurrying over to take a picture.

“Not planning to,” Iwaizumi murmurs drowsily. 

“So cute!” Oikawa gushes, padding closer and holding out his hand. The cat blinks slowly at it, giving it a sniff before curling back into itself. Oikawa smiles, scratching it behind the ears. 

Kageyama purses his lips, creeping closer until he stands beside Oikawa’s crouched form. He reaches a hand out stiffly, teeth gritted behind the firm line of his lips and eyebrows drawn together in complete concentration. He puts his hand on the cat’s head, its ear flicking back at the touch. He flinches, but the cat doesn’t do anything else. 

He pets it. 

It’s soft. 

His shoulders relax, lips wobbling a little. 

He pets the cat some more, fingers awkward and uncertain. He scratches behind the ears like Oikawa had done, feeling the cat start to rumble underneath him. His eyes widen. 

Oikawa snaps a picture, it startles him and he pulls his arm back quick. The cat hisses at the pull on his fur, swiping a clawed paw at the offending arm. Kageyama lets out a shout, slapping the cat back instinctively. The cat yowls at him, high pitched and angry before scampering away, making Iwaizumi flinch as its claws sink into his chest as it jumps off. 

Iwaizumi sits up, rubbing at his chest with a wince before turning his gaze to Kageyama’s hunched over form, “You alright?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Kageyama quickly says. 

“I know,” Iwaizumi assures, reaching a hand out despite Kageyama’s flinch, “Let me see your arm.”

Kageyama shakes his head. 

“No one’s mad at you, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi assures, taking the boys cradled arm. Little beaded dots of red stand out of the pale skin where the long sleeves had ridden up, creating three thin parallel lines. 

Hanamaki comes over, armed with hand sanitizer and Iwaizumi takes a bit to clean the scratches up. Kageyama hisses at the sting and he bites down on his bottom lip. 

“You okay?” Iwaizumi asks again. 

Kageyama nods. 

Iwaizumi ruffles his hair. Kageyama feels a warmth in his chest over it, and maybe it's the elation of not getting hit, or the now familiar feeling of Iwaizumi’s hand in his hair, but Kageyama feels compelled to reach out and squeeze Iwaizumi’s arm as if it were a one handed hug. 

Iwaizumi grins at him. 

“Iwa-chan, are you bleeding?” Oikawa asks, stepping forward and tugging on Iwaizumi’s shirt collar to lift it from his skin. He peers down unceremoniously.    
  
“Gross!” Matsukawa calls from his seat by the tree, “Inappropriate!”

“In front of a child? Really, Oikawa?” Hanamaki admonishes, taking a second to cover Kageyama’s eyes. Kageyama steps back, shaking the hands off, backing into Ushijima’s side, who catches him with a firm hand on his back before he can fall. 

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at the comment, unbuttoning the top two buttons of Iwaizumi’s polo to let more light filter in. 

“I’m fine, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi sighs, but there’s a soft smile on his face, regardless. 

“You don’t know what kind of diseases these wild cats might carry,” Oikawa mutters, “Let me be sure.”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi allows, craning his head back to give him more room to inspect.

“Kageyama,” Ushijima says, using the hand on his back to steer him away, “Will you assist me a moment?”

“Ok,” Kageyama says, looking up at him.

“I want to collect some leaves to press,” Ushijima continues, “Will you help me find some interesting ones?”

Kageyama nods again, eyes immediately falling to the ground to concentrate. They walk around the little shrine, Ushijima collecting leaves from the interesting native plants. Kageyama examines all sorts of different fallen leaves with a harsh scrutiny, rejecting most of them as unqualified. 

He settles on three leaves after about fifteen minutes of methodical thinking, bringing them over to Ushijima for approval. 

“This one looks like a crow’s wing,” he explains, tracing the edges of the red leaf. Ushijima nods, placing it in his notebook carefully. 

“A cat was sitting on this one,” he says as he hands over the next slightly ripped leaf.

“This one is orange,” he hesitates with the last leave, twirling it in his fingers. It’s a larger leaf than the other too, with one corner ripped off, but its color is bright, like Kageyama is holding a flame in his hand. 

“Would you like to keep that one?” Ushijima asks. 

Kageyama nods quickly. Ushijima takes it carefully in his hands, “I will hold on to it until we get home.”

“Ok,” Kageyama says. 

“Thank you for your help,” Ushijima adds. 

Kageyama nods, and then he pauses, kicking his foot at a pile of leaves near them, “Ushijima-san.”

Ushijima looks over at him. 

“Is it ok if I join the volleyball team at school?” Kageyama asks, voice more a whisper than anything else. 

“Do you want to join?”

Kageyama nods.

“Then I do not see why not.”

“But,” Kageyama says, fingers twisting against themselves, “It means I won’t be able to help in the shop after school.”

“You will be missed,” Ushijima says, “But that is fine.”

Kageyama purses his lips, looking up at Ushijima, “And I can still live with you and Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa-san even if I don’t?”

Ushijima blinks, “Of course.”

A tension Ushijima had not even noticed releases from Kageyama shoulders and he nods, a wide grimace (though Ushijima thinks it must be a grin of sorts) stretching his face. He nods again, and then scurries off toward the shrine, maybe to look for that non-existent fifteenth statue. 

Ushijima doesn’t follow, feet stuck to the ground and frown entrenched in his face over Kageyama’s words. They don’t sit well with him. 

Not at all. 

* * *

Kageyama is lively at dinner. Chattering incessantly about finally managing to pet a cat properly on the way down from the hike. He lists a bunch of facts he’s learned, even if the adults were there when he learned them-- _ did you know cats hate water too? _ He talks about his plans to join the volleyball team and how he has decided to become very good at it.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki humor him the whole conversation, gasping and oohing at all the right moments to encourage the boy to keep his ranting. Iwaizumi laughs when he needs to, going back and forth with Kageyama and making sure he remembers to chew and drink as the meal progresses. 

Oikawa isn’t listening. His gaze keeps shifting to Ushijima, who sits quietly, pushing around his food with his chopsticks more than consuming any of it. Ushijima’s silence at meals is not unusual, nor unpleasant, but Oikawa has known the man long enough to pick apart any and all kinds of quietness.

This one is fermented with worry, hanging like a drape over his stone body. 

Oikawa frowns, nudging the man with his foot under the table, having him flick his gold gaze toward him. He raises an eyebrow questioning but Ushijima just looks away again. Oikawa sighs, taking a sip of his soup and deciding he’ll have to deal with it later. 

It’s as dinner is wrapping up and Iwaizumi is caving to Kageyama’s desire for ice cream that Matsukawa shifts the conversation and both Oikawa and Ushijima start listening again. “So,” he starts, “I was talking to Hiro earlier, and we thought we’d offer, to uh...”

“If you guys want, we can take Kageyama for the night,” Hanamaki finishes, sitting up a little, “I’m sure you three haven’t had much alone time lately,” he chuckles. 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, blinking and looking over at his boyfriends, “Uh, I guess?”

“Kageyama doesn’t have a cell phone,” Oikawa says, shaking his head, “And plus, he’s a handful. We couldn't ask that of you.”

“We’re in the hotel next door,” Hanamaki waves off. 

“And we got four whole hands between us,” Matsukawa comments with a lopsided grin, letting his fingers dance in the air. 

Surprising everyone, Ushijima speaks up, eyes looking at the boy intently, “Kageyama, would you like to spend the night with Matsukawa and Hanamaki?”

Kageyama is busy scooping mouthfuls of vanilla ice cream into his mouth as fast as he can. He looks up and shrugs, before going back to his dessert, “It’s fine.”

It’s fine. 

( _ It’s not fine _ , Oikawa thinks, to himself, so he forces Iwaizumi to give Kageyama his cell phone and shows the boy how to call him if he needs anything. And then it’s not  _ fine _ but at least it’s  _ better _ .)

* * *

Ushijima lays down the futons, side by side in their shared room. He unrolls the blankets, straightening them out as best he can. Oikawa’s fingers dance along the back of his neck making him shudder and forcing him to stand back up. He gets the picture.

He moves to slip out of his clothes and into the complementary robe of the hotel, just as Iwaizumi and Oikawa had done previously. 

“Ready?” Iwaizumi asks motioning towards their door. 

Ushijima nods and Oikawa stretches his arms high above his head, letting the large sleeves slip down to reveal his pale arms. The trio leave the room together, heading to the communal baths downstairs. They wash up in silence at the little shower heads before entering the main room. It’s mostly empty due to it being the off season, and they’re able to get one large bath all to themselves.

Oikawa lets out a pleasant sigh, sinking into the warm water until it reaches his shoulders. He has a bandana tied around his head to keep his bangs out of his eyes. “When was the last time we went to an onsen?” he bemoans, leaning his head back against the lip of the tub and closing his eyes. 

Iwaizumi ventures closer to him, lifting a hand to curve a strand of hair behind Oikawa’s ear, sprinkling a few droplets of warm water onto his cheek. Oikawa can’t help the quirk of his lips at the touch, but he keeps his eyes shut all the same.

Ushiijima keeps his distance, silent and suffocating, until Oikawa finally speaks up, “Ushiwaka-chan, are you going to come join us or brood by yourself over there?”

“I am worried,” Ushijima murmurs, turning towards them, “About Kageyama.”

Oikawa sits up, opening his eyes, “Don’t,” he starts, “I told Mattsun and Makki to stay clear of any onsens so he should be fine.”

Ushijima shakes his head, “Not about that. About something he said earlier today.” Iwaizumi and Oikawa look at him more intently, waiting. Ushijima slides closer, “I do not think Kageyama understands his place in our home.”

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks.

Ushijima continues, gaze lost in the water beneath him and mouth set in a grim line, “He thought if he did not work in the shop we would get rid of him.”

“What?” Iwaizumi blinks, rising a bit, “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he think that?”

“Because he’s a kid, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, leaning back again, “Inherently stupid and jumping to conclusions.”

“Don’t call him stupid,” Iwaizumi says almost at the same time Ushijima does the same. 

Oikawa grimaces, “I didn’t mean it negatively. Kids, in general, are stupid.”

Iwaizumi frowns, turning back to Ushijima, “Did you set him straight?”   
  
“I believe so,” Ushijima replies, tilting his head toward him, “But I worry. If he believes his life is inherently transient why form bonds at all? It does not sit well with me.”

Iwaizumi sinks down into the water, until only his eyes are visible. Almost like a crocodile, especially the way his wet hair is plastered to his head. He blows some bubbles, because Ushijima has a point. 

Kageyama’s been with them a few weeks now and not much has changed for the young boy. He remains friendless, pivoting from tantrum to tantrum, grades still a ghastly sight. And if after weeks of living with them he still thought his place so tenuous, how could they prove to him otherwise? Why grow attached if the boy feared being uprooted at any moment? 

It made his current work all the more important.

Oikawa nudges him with his toes underneath the water, raising an eyebrow, “You finally going to tell us about  _ your _ secret project?”

Ushijima blinks. 

Iwaizumi flushes slightly, lifting his head up to reveal his mouth, “Don’t be such a know-it-all.”

“Don’t be so obvious,” Oikawa counters, smug smirk growing. 

Iwaizumi huffs, standing back up, “Kageyama told me, a little while ago, about a friend he once had. I think, it might be the only one he’s ever had. I’ve been looking for him to see if we could get them to reconnect. Maybe it’ll help him see that not all connections have to be severed so permanently.”

Oikawa hums in agreement, “Name?”

“Kageyama doesn’t remember.”

“Figures,” Oikawa snorts.

“Have you found any leads?” Ushijima asks.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “I went to Kageyama’s old home--the kid was his neighbor--but they had moved away and there’s been two families living there since. They don’t know the previous tenants at all.”

“Send me the address, I’ll see what I can dig up,” Oikawa says, scratching his nose and then grimacing at the droplets tickling his skin. 

Iwaizumi gives a nod and then he chuckles to himself, leaning back to take a seat beside Oikawa again, “For an evening without Kageyama, we sure are talking about him a lot.”

Oikawa snorts, “What a little gremlin.”

Iwaizumi’s smile stretches to his ears as he sinks back low into the water, sliding even closer, until their thighs touch underneath the water, “You like him, don’t you, Tooru.”

Oikawa lets out a huff, keeping his eyes closed and nonchalant, “I  _ tolerate _ him, for you.”

“Is tolerate the right word if you check on him every night as he sleeps?” Ushijima thinks aloud, leaving Oikawa to whirl his head toward him aghast. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, “You  _ what? _ ”

Oikawa’s face heats up as he pulls away, lifting his chin up high to cover up some bit of his lost pride, “I haven’t been able to sleep well lately, so why not take the time to just poke my head in and check he’s alright,” he coughs and tries to screw his face up into a more intimidating look, “It’s  _ your _ fault, anyhow, for my recent bouts of insomnia. Take responsibility.”

Ushijima comes forward, wrapping his arm around Oikawa’s waist from beneath the water to pull him close and nuzzle his face in the crook of his neck. Iwaizumi swims up in front of them, pressing a chaste kiss to Oikawa’s lips, “Sorry for ignoring you.”

Oikawa shakes his head, “Sorry for being an ass.”

Iwaizumi smiles. Ushijima presses a kiss to Oikawa’s shoulder, before beckoning for Iwaizumi to come closer to him. Oikawa laughs, giddy in his tone as Ushijima manages to sit them both in his lap thanks to the buoyancy of the water, and it’s enough to earn him kisses on both his cheeks. 

“I feel as though I should apologize for something too,” Ushijima comments, keeping both hands firm around each ones’ waist. 

“You feel left out over the silliest of things,” Oikawa murmurs into his neck, his breath tickling the wet splotches enough to make the larger man shiver. 

Ushijima swallows, his adam apple bobbing noticeably by Iwaizumi’s lips, “It is something I can not help.”

Oikawa brings an arm out from under the water, letting it drape around Ushijima’s shoulders so he can lean a bit closer, “Does Ushiwaka-chan need some attention?” he asks, voice low and breathy by his ear. 

Ushijima shivers again, and his fingers dig into their sides, giving him away. He can feels Iwaizumi’s growing smile tickle his skin, his light stubble grazing against his bare shoulder as he presses lazy kisses along his path downward. 

“Iwa-chan, I think we’ve been neglecting our baby Toshi,” Oikawa teases, the fingers wrapped around Ushijima’s shoulder, stretching to tug at Iwaizumi’s hair.

“I think we’ve been neglecting a lot of things,” Iwaizumi concurs, “Is it time we fix that?”

Oikawa licks his lips, brown eyes dark and shining, “No time like the present.”

When they finally leave the bath house they’re embarrassingly pruny and giddy. And perhaps their wet feet carry them a bit too quickly back to their bedroom than is safely recommended.  

* * *

“He wasn’t too much?” Iwaizumi asks, when they meet up with Matsukawa and Hanamaki the next morning.

Kageyama runs past him to talk to Ushijima excitedly, dragging him over to a small black cat he had managed to pet. 

“He’s great,” Matsukawa waves off with a soft smile, “He clunked out pretty quickly, honestly. We were watching random channels on the TV and I think the day caught up with him. He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi swallows, looking back at the boy as he tentatively tries to pet the cat once more. Ushijima nods encouragingly at him. 

“Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa starts again, grabbing his attention, “So you, uh, you’re fostering him?” Iwaizumi nods. “So how does, how does that work, if uh, if someone wants to adopt him?”

Iwaizumi tilts his head, “What do you mean? Are you interested?”

“I don’t know,” Matsukawa murmurs, scratching the back of his head, “We hit it off and Makki already kind of loves him and like, it’s been so  _ hard, _ Iwaizumi, to find any place that’ll give us the light of day, and if this place, was ok with you guys, I don’t see how they could turns us down. It almost seems like, like fate, you know?”

“Fate,” Iwaizumi repeats, looking back over at Kageyama fisting his hand in Ushijima’s jacket sleeve to tug him closer. He’s not sure if  _ fate _ is the right word here, it seemed like the word  _ convenient  _ fit a whole lot better. 

“Anyhow,” Matsukawa continues, dispelling the conversation with a wave of his hand, “If you ever need a babysitter, you know how to reach us. Always happy to help.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi mumbles, distractedly, 

The ferry’s horn blows loud and startling in all their ears, making the cat race away and Kageyama stomp his foot. Ushijima squeezes his shoulders sympathetically, using his hands to guide the boy back toward the group to board. 

“Matsukawa-san,” Kageyama says aloud, digging his heels in the dirt, “I need your things.”

“Yes, sir,” Matsukawa replies, slipping the headphones out from around his neck and securing them over the boy, “Have at it.”

Iwaizumi nudges Kageyama and the boy looks up, speaking louder than normal, “Thank you!”

Matsukawa smiles, ruffling Kageyama’s hair, and Iwaizumi feels his stomach squirm in his abdomen at the sight. It’s not completely unpleasant, but it doesn’t sit right all the same. He swallows and ushers everyone to board the boat. 

The ferry ride back is uneventful. The seas are smooth and the conversation is light. Kageyama swings his legs about and nods his head along to whatever music is filling him up. Oikawa keeps the chatter up for the adults and Ushijima comments here and there. 

They part ways at the port. Oikawa gives both Hanamaki and Matsukawa long hard hugs. Iwaizumi does much of the same. Ushijima gives them a shared wave. And Kageyama bows and thanks them again for good measure

In the car, Iwaizumi makes a point to sit beside Kageyama, who has happily reunited with his blanket and volleyball, swaddling the latter up with the former and hugging the items close to his chest. 

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi asks, quietly, mindful of Ushijima sleeping in the passenger seat. (They had truly exhausted him the night before.) “What did you think of Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-san?”

Kageyama shrugs, fiddling with his blanket, “They were nice. Matsukawa-san let me listen to music. We found a volleyball game on the TV and we were watching that and it was really cool.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi mutters.

“Yeah,” Kageyama nods, emphatically, “Are we going to the shop now? Or another place?”

“Home,” Iwaizumi assures. 

“Good,” Kageyama states firmly, with a nod, “I’m tired.”

Iwaizumi smiles, but it’s forced. He turns to lean his head against the window, gaze taking in the world around him, watching as the trees begin to disappear and give way to concrete. He lets out a slow breath through his nose, letting his eyes sweep across and back into the car. He sees Ushijima’s hair peeking out from the sides of the head rest he is slumped against directly in front of him. His eyes keep shifting, settling on Oikawa, sitting up, hands holding the bottom of the steering wheel, and humming along to the soft song on the radio. 

Oikawa’s brown eyes catch him staring in the rearview mirror, giving him a raised brow. A question. Iwaizumi shakes his head,  _ its nothing _ . The snort that comes out of Oikawa is almost quiet enough not to be heard over the thrum of the cars passing them, but Iwaizumi still catches it, and it tells him his boyfriend doesn’t believe him at all. 

He looks back out the window, bringing a hand up to rest his head on so his skull doesn’t rattle against the window anymore. 

He feels a weight settle against his side, looking over to see Kageyama has fallen asleep and the sharp turn had caused him to veer into him. Kageyama murmurs something sleepily, burrowing his head into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. 

Iwaizumi blinks an embarrassing amount of times, carefully turning himself so Kageyama has more to rest on. He takes a risk, lifting his one hand to unravel the bunched up blanket in Kageyama’s arms and drape it over his skinny legs. Kageyama doesn’t stir, other than to twitch his nose. 

Iwaizumi hesitates a moment before slowly letting his head tilt to rest atop Kageyama’s. When that doesn’t rouse the boy up from his slumber he smiles, pressing a soft, almost imperceptible kiss to the crown of his head. He closes his eyes, relaxing for the long ride home. 

Oikawa takes in a deep breath, tearing his gaze away from the rearview window to pay attention to the road. He lifts his hand from the wheel to crank the volume up just a touch higher, to compensate for Ushijma’s occasional snoring. 

He bites his lip. 

“Don’t chew on your lips,” Iwaizumi mutters, sleepily without opening his eyes.

Oikawa rolls his own eyes, but releases his bottom lip all the same. He rolls his shoulder, “Don’t be such a know-it-all,” he murmurs. 

Iwaizumi smiles. 

When they do get home Oikawa regrets having to ruin the moment by waking them all up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chap so soon???
> 
> and a happy chapter??????? CRAZY
> 
> hope y'all enjoyed some nice vacation time. don't worry we're still in the thick of it. i think this story is about half way done? yeah
> 
> your reviews keep me going
> 
> until next time


	10. Familial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa softens and before he can really think twice about it his hand has come up to comb through Kageyama’s black hair. The boy flinches but relaxes, head leaning down into Oikawa’s lap. Oikawa keeps petting him, despite his better judgement and tries to ignore the sudden ache in his heart, “You should have told us.”

Kageyama hates school. Has always hated school. Has never had a reason not to hate school. But that monday he is excited. He puts on his middle school uniform without complaint. He comes down for breakfast without pushing, downs his milk glass and nibbles at his bread. He lets Oikawa-san brush out his hair without trying to hit him away.

He waves goodbye to the three of them as he races down the stairs and slips out of the shop. The walk to school isn’t far, but he’d been in the habit of taking his time, walking slow and slouched and entering the building just as the bell rings. Now he manages to step into the building when the rest of the students do. 

He pays them no mind, weaving through the crowd, not caring if he bumps into others as he goes in order to reach the small gymnasium. He peeks through the window and sees exactly what he wants to see. 

The boys volleyball team. 

He wrenches the door open, letting it slam shut behind him, creating a noise that makes him flinch. Several boys looks his way. 

Kageyama keeps going despite this, marching his way to the only adult in the room, holding a clipboard. She looks down at him with a raised brow, “May I help you?”

“I’m joining the volleyball team,” Kageyama states firmly. 

She snorts, “It’s almost the end of the year. You can join in the spring.”

Kageyama furrows his brow, “But I want to join now.”

She lowers her clipboard, “You should have joined earlier. When you were supposed to.”

Kageyama can feel eyes on him from all the other students, feels his face flushing as anger courses through him. He doesn’t understand what the issue is. He wants to play volleyball. He hates this lady. He hates her. 

“Is that Kageyama?” a kid asks, nudging the boy next to him. 

Kageyama recognizes the pair from his class. He can’t remember their names. He doesn’t think he ever learned them. 

“Koto-san,” the boy speaks up again, raising his arm, “Kageyama-kun is a transfer student. He wasn’t here for tryouts.”

The woman straightens up a little, looking Kageyama over more carefully, “Is that so?”

Kageyama glares at her. 

She snorts again, looking back at her clipboard, “Well, Kageyama-kun, I doubt you’ll get much play time at this point in the year but we can make an exception to let you in.”

Kageyama fights hard not to grin, in case it ruins his good fortune. 

“Kindaichi-kun, since you’re so invested, I want you to help your friend learn the ropes and basics, alright?”

The boy who had spoken before bristles, eyes widening and face heating up as he sputters, “We’re not  _ friends _ !”

“Help your team mate then,” she waves off, before looking over at the rest of the crew of boys, “Did I say you could stop practicing?”

Kageyama walks over to his two classmates expectantly, now that the coach is distracted with the other members of the team. He looks up at them, both just a bit taller than him, and waits. 

The shallot headed boy grimaces, but the other boy gives a small silent wave. Kageyama nods at them. 

“Have you ever played volleyball before?” Shallot-kun asks, turning away to walk toward the bin of volleyballs. Kageyama has never seen so many of them in one place. He wants to hold all of them in his hands. He settles for dipping his fingers into the basket and running them along the curves and stitches. 

He’s too engrossed to notice Shallot-kuns weird look, “Well, have you or not?”

Kageyama looks up and shakes his head. 

“Ok,” Shallot-kun sighs, taking one of the balls. He throws it lightly in the air, catching it and testing its firmness, “We can do basic stuff, I guess.”

“Have him spike,” Quiet-kun speaks up, “Like Koto-san made us do.”

“That’s mean,” Shallot-kun flushes.

Quiet-kun smiles, and it’s not a safe one, “Only because you fell on your face.”

“I can spike,” Kageyama says, raising his hand for added effect. 

The two boys blink at him, “Can you?”

“Probably,” Kageyama nods firmly. 

Shallot-kun doesn’t look impressed but he tosses the ball to his friend, “Watch first,” he says, and Kageyama nods again, concentrating hard at the setup. 

Shallot-kun readies himself by the line, eyes watching Quiet-kun as he holds the ball. Quiet-kun tosses the ball towards the net (Kageyama thinks it should be a bit closer than it ended up) and Shallot-kun runs and leaps to spike it over. 

“Now you try,” Shallot-kun says as Quiet-kun grabs another ball from the bin. 

Kageyama stands by the line and waits for the ball to get thrown in the air. He runs, leaping into the air but his hands awkwardly hit the side of the ball, veering right. He frowns as he lands. 

Shallot-kun doesn’t hide his snort.

Kageyama frowns deeper, pointing a finger at Quiet-kun, “You did it wrong.”

“What?” Quiet-kun blinks.

“You made the ball go too far this way!” Kageyama snaps.

Shallot-kun furrows his brows, “Kunimi didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kageyama huffs, crossing his arms. 

The two boys stare at him in disbelief before Shallot-kun rolls his eyes, “If you think you know so much how about  _ you _ toss it?”

Kageyama feels the challenge in his voice and he squares up his shoulders, stomping over to the bin and fishing out a ball. He stands where Quiet-kun had been, planting his feet firmly on the ground. 

Shallot-kun stands ready at the line. 

Kageyama squeezes the ball in his hand, relishing in how firm it is, how big and secure and grounding. He thinks back, to what feels like so long ago, when he’d passed smaller balls over high wooden fences, practicing his aim and accuracy, one wrong hit threatening to ruin a beautiful garden. One failed catch threatening to alert his mother.

He glances to wear Shallot-kun is, but then he focuses on where he should end up, based on the last run. He tests the ball out by throwing it into the air before nodding. He tosses it, letting the ball hit the palms of his hands with a little jump, watching it arc right where he wanted, although, Shallot-kun is a bit too slow to fully appreciate it. He still manages to make the spike, eyes wide. He stares at his reddening hand. 

“Kageyama!” Their coach shouts from across the gym, one hand cupping her mouth. The three boys look over at her. She grins, “Nice toss!”

Kageyama feels warmth pool in him, feels light shining from every little pore. No adult, especially one from school, had ever complimented him before. And never aloud, in front of others. He’s too caught up in the feeling to really notice how Shallot-kun and Quiet-kun share an unhappy glance. 

It doesn’t matter anyway. 

* * *

Kageyama is excited at dinner. He is also starving.

“Tobio-chan,  _ sit down _ ,” Oikawa says, for the third time in a row. And Kageyama complies, or tries too, but he wants more rice, and the rice pot is too far for him to reach without standing, and he just wants to grab it. He lifts himself up again but Ushijima holds him down with a stern hand on his shoulder. 

“Patience,” Ushijima murmurs. 

Iwaizumi finally comes back after changing out of his policeman uniform, which Kageyama thinks is dumb. Iwaizumi-san looks really cool in his uniform so he doesn’t understand why he always takes it off when he gets home. 

He sits down. Kageyama stands up to reach for the rice because now that they’re all here they can start eating. But again Ushijima-san’s hand is on his shoulders to prevent him. He scowls. Oikawa-san stands up instead--which Kageyama thinks is incredibly unfair--and starts serving plates with rice. 

“I want more,” Kageyama demands, when he’s handed his portion. 

“Finish that first,” Oikawa says, without sparing him a glance. 

Kageyama glowers and Iwaizumi smiles at him, looking over at Oikawa, “He had volleyball practice today, he needs the added fuel.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes but acquiesces, handing Kageyama another spoonful, “If he throws up don’t blame me.”

“How was practice, Kageyama?” Ushijima asks.

Kageyama swallows the mouthful of food he had shoved in seconds prior, sitting up a little, “It was fun. Coach-san says I should become a setter.”

Oikawa pauses in his eating, chopsticks hoverinf over his plate. Kageyama doesn’t really register it, only looking over when the man starts speaking, “Oh?”

Kageyama nods, “I’m the best one on the team.”

“You joined a week ago,” Oikawa says flatly.

Kageyama nods again, “Everyone else is slow. They don’t do it right.”

Oikawa furrows his brows and it looks like he wants to say more but Iwaizumi speaks up instead, “Have you made any friends?”

Kageyama shrugs, “There are two other second years with me.”

“Oh? What are their names?

Kageyama pauses, pursing his lips, “I don’t remember.”

Oikawa snorts, “You need to learn your teammates names, Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama sinks in his seat a little, “They’re stupid, anyway.”

Iwaizumi frowns, “Why do you say that?”

“They don’t listen to me. They barely even try during practice. It’s annoying.”

“Be nice,” Iwaizumi says.

Kageyama huffs and decides he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He filters out the rest of dinner conversation, because he doesn’t really care about Oikawa-san’s paperwork or Iwaizumi-san’s friend or any of that. He only looks up again when he hears his name.

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, looking over, “Your birthday is coming up, do you have any ideas?”

Kageyama stares at Oikawa for a long time trying to figure out how to respond to the string of words. He settles on a shrug.

“Do you want a party?” Iwaizumi probes. 

Kageyama feels uncomfortable, shoulders hitching up, “Why?”

“Because it’s your birthday,” Iwaizumi insists, and Kageyama wants to sink lower in his chair. All three pairs of eyes are on him and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. 

Kageyama keeps his head down. He isn’t stupid, he knows other kids celebrate their birthday every year, has been forced to sit through days at school where all his classmates are suddenly excited for one person. Has had to endure the attention of the ones who normally ignore him on his own birthday, voices unnaturally cheery and friendly. 

He’s never really enjoyed it. 

The conversation is dropped, but something hangs heavy in the air, heavy enough for Kageyama to feel on his bony shoulders. He squirms in his chair, piling more food into his mouth rapidly so he can excuse himself for his room. 

Kageyama likes his room. He’s pushed his bed into the corner with Iwaizumi-san’s help, and enjoys curling up on it. His walls are bare but he likes it that way, less cluttered more clean. Oba-chan’s blanket hangs on the back of his desk chair. He likes having it in his lap when he tries to work through his homework. He pulls it onto his bed when it’s time to sleep.

He hangs over the bed, arms flailing as he tries to grab the volleyball on the floor. He brings it up with him, lying down on his back. He practices tossing the ball up and down, only having it veer off mark a handful of times. 

At one point the ball hits the side of his palm, slamming on to his desk, sending his folder flying. He hops out to grab it, shoving the papers that had fallen out back in quickly in case someone barges in and gets him trouble. He catches sight of the paper on the top and feels his grip tighten. 

He stares at it for a long time, grip crumpling the edges, before he slams the folder shut and shoves the whole thing into one of his desk drawers. 

He leaves the volleyball where it had rolled to the corner of his room, preferring to crawl into bed and bring the covers up and over his head. He curls up. 

Sometimes, Kageyama thinks about his mom. 

He doesn’t like too. 

It twists his insides and makes the thick skin of his feet itchy, and when he tries to scratch all he can think of is scraping it all of. And it hurts. So he stops. 

He wipes his eyes with an annoyed huff, curling even tighter in on himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think of anything at all. 

At some point in the night someone comes in to shut off his light. 

* * *

As the weeks pass the weather gets colder. Kageyama’s hoodies become woefully not enough, and although he never says anything, he comes home to an array of winter coats spread out on the living room couch and an expectant Oikawa.

Ushijima sits stoically on the couch, ready to judge. 

Iwaizumi must still be working. 

“Come, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, holding up a thick black coat, “Try these on.”

Kageyama doesn’t really want to. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

Oikawa wrestles him out of his backpack, helping him slip on the coat. It’s long on him and Oikawa shakes his head. He takes it off and gives Kageyama a puffy orange jacket which makes him look like the namesake fruit. Ushijima hides his smile with his hand and Kageyama scowls. 

Oikawa gives him a blue coat next, and it’s soft against Kageyama and he likes it, “This one,” he says firmly. 

“We have more to try,” Oikawa says.

“No,” Kageyama decides. 

“Tobio--”

“No,” Kageyama repeats and he sits on the ground, “I’m tired.”

Oikawa sighs, looking over at Ushijima who simply shrugs, “It looks adequate to me.”

“Fine,” Oikawa mutters, “Take it off and go hang it in your closet.  _ Properly _ .”

Kageyama races away, socks almost slipping on the wood as he runs toward his room. He slips the coat off and grabs a spare hanger, shoving it on and sliding it into place as best he can. He hears the front door open and a chorus of  _ okaeri  _ flit through the home. Iwaizumi must be home which means dinner is not to far away. He slips back out.

Ushijima is in the kitchen, stirring a pot of water. Kageyama can’t see what’s inside and he doesn’t want to get any closer. Oikawa is sitting at the island eyes watching Iwaizumi, still clad in uniform and stuck on the phone. 

He doesn’t look happy. 

Kageyama feels his feet twitch on the floor. 

“When was it due, again?” Iwaizumi asks. He tries to shrug off his coat while balancing the phone on his shoulder. It’s not working. Oikawa gets up to help him, hanging it on the coat rack. Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa. 

“We’ll talk to him,” he says, “Thanks for calling, Tachibana-sensei.”

Kageyama swallows, three pairs of eyes turning to look at him.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi begins, slowly, “Tachibana-sensei says you haven’t turned in an important project.”

“It’s stupid,” Kageyama says. Because it is. More than stupid. His socks are making his feet itch and he wants to take them off. He also wants to leave. Run off and hide somewhere for the rest of forever. 

“Why haven’t you turned it in?” Iwaizumi asks. 

Kageyama doesn’t want to answer. He kicks at the floor instead, digging his hands into his pocket. 

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi says again, and he sounds disappointed, a gruffness sinking into his voice that make Kageyama want to lie down on the floor. But it also makes him angrier, at him, at himself, at Tachibana-sensei, at everyone. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kageyama hisses and he turns around, stomping back to his room and slamming the door shut. 

He’s surprised none of them follow after him, that none of them throw the door open and yell, or force him back out to the kitchen like he expected. He can hear them arguing though, voices too indistinct to parse through their meaning, but loud enough they bang against Kageyama’s chest. 

* * *

Kageyama is used to getting in trouble. Be it with teachers, strangers or his mother. It happens, more often than not. He gets yelled at, he gets punished and then they move on like it didn’t even happen. In the end, Kageyama will go to a different school or live in a different home, so it doesn’t really matter.

Days pass and Kageyama doesn’t really think of the missed assignment. He ignores Tachibana-sensei, leaving the classroom quickly in favor of getting to practice. 

Practice is nice. The gymnasium is a newfound sanctuary. His teachers don’t bother him here. He doesn’t feel stupid here. Koto-san compliments him here. 

He practices a lot, usually by himself, working on his accuracy. Koto-san says if he keeps improving he can play real games soon, maybe even before the year ends. It spurs him to come early and stay late, tossing and tossing and tossing. He doesn’t really toss to people until Koto-san asks a teammate to join him. 

So when Koto-san calls his name he quickly stops, catching the volleyball in his hands and rushing over to her obediently. He stands expectantly in front of her, staring up with his wide blue gaze, awaiting new instruction. She snorts at him, hand coming to rest at her hip, “Kageyama, Tachibana-sensei is worried about you.”

Kageyama frowns. This isn’t what he wanted to talk about. Not with Koto-san. 

“Look,” she sighs, “School’s not for everyone, I get that. You got some real talent in your bones for volleyball, I can tell. But school rules are you can’t play if you’re failing a class. So shape up alright? If you fail I’ll have to bench you and I’d hate to lose my back-up setter so soon.”

Kageyama nods grimly, kicking a bit at the floor as jittery energy starts to build in him. Koto-san sighs again, “Alright, you’re dismissed early for today. Go home and get some rest.”

Kageyama frowns deeper but does as he’s told. He ignores the looks from his teammates as he gathers his stuff and leaves, stomping out of the gym and down the hall and out of the building in general. 

He storms all the way back to the shop. He ignores Ushijima’s surprised greeting, shoving past a customer to climb up the stairs. The door is locked. He bangs at it angrily, kicking it, biting on his lip to hold in his scream. 

Oikawa opens the door, blinking down at at him. Kageyama is still mid banging and kicking, so his blows hit against Oikawa’s long legs rather than the door, eliciting a wince.

“Tobio-chan! Stop!” Oikawa snaps.

But Kageyama doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop. Hatred brews in his stomach, like a storm, clouds rolling over his head casting him in the dark. He lets out the scream he had been holding in, hands flying out to hit at Oikawa’s legs, because he doesn’t know what to say. He just lets the thunder out. 

Oikawa bends down, trying to grab at the flurry of Kageyama’s arms with his own hands, “Tobio, Tobio calm  _ down _ ,” he hisses, wincing when a particularly hard kick hits his shin, “Tobio, you’re hurting me!”

Kageyama is in the air, and the loss of grounding on his feet makes him go limp. He wiggles a little, twisting his head around to see that Ushijima has come up the stairs and lifted him up. His hands are warm on either side of his waist. 

The rain starts to fall. 

Ushijima sits him down on the couch, and then for good measure wraps a blanket tightly around him. Kageyama doesn’t move other than to keep crying, nose sniffling, eyes leaking and mouth a wet ugly mess. 

“Toshi, go back to the store,” Oikawa says.

“Oikawa--”

Oikawa waves him away, “Text Iwa-chan what happened. There are still customers down there. Go.”

Ushijima sighs but backs down. 

Oikawa takes a deep breath through his nose before sitting down on the coffee table in front of Kageyama. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa says, “What happened?”

Kageyama is still crying though, pathetic like a soggy burrito, and Oikawa realizes he’s not going to get anything from him anytime soon. So he leaves to make some warm tea, thinks back to what his mom used to give him when he had his fits when he was little. 

Oikawa waits for the kettle to whistle, pouring out a cup. He puts in some chamomile and a dollop of honey before bringing it out to the living room. After placing it on the table to cool he takes a seat right beside the sniffling boy. 

Kageyama is stiff beside him, and Oikawa starts wondering if maybe hot water wasn’t the best idea. But he decides not to bring attention to it, instead angling his body toward the boy, “Take your time,” he says. 

Kageyama does. Oikawa wishes he’d brought his phone over to check on the group chat. Instead, he’s forced to watch the eleven year old cry more ugly tears and shake in his little blanket cocoon until he’s all cried out. 

“Here,” Oikawa says, reaching over for a cup, making sure it wasn’t hot anymore, but rather warm and soothing, “Drink this.”

Kageyama obeys, squirming his arms free of their confines to hold the cup. He sips at it before deciding to down the whole thing. Oikawa takes the empty cup when he’s done, putting it down on the table. 

“What happened?” Oikawa asks, again.

Kageyama shakes his head. 

Oikawa sighs, “Tobio-chan, you have to tell me.”

“Why?” Kageyama counters, “I don’t want to.”

Oikawa purses his lips before settling, “We’re family now, Kageyama. There are no secrets between family.”

Kageyama blinks, “Really?”

“Really,” Oikawa nods, “We’re one team now. We have to help each other. So you have to tell us what’s wrong so we can help.”

“You won’t be mad?” Kageyama asks, fingers coming to squeeze the hem of the blanket.

“No promises,” Oikawa smirks, bringing his legs up onto the couch, resting his head on his folded arm, supported by the back of the couch. Kageyama looks down, fiddling with the blanket, legs squirming underneath. Oikawa nudges him with his own foot, “Why don’t you want me to be mad?”

“I’ll get in trouble,” Kageyama murmurs, “And you’ll hurt me.”

“Have I ever hurt you?” OIkawa asks aloud, “Has Iwaizumi-san or Ushijima-san ever hurt you?”

Kageyama shakes his head. 

Oikawa starts rolling up his pant leg to reveal the bruise beginning to blossom on his calf, “Even when you hurt me? Did I hurt you?”

Kageyama shakes his head harder, “I’m sorry.”

“Hurting people is wrong, Tobio. You know this, don’t you?” Oikawa continues. 

“Even when they’re bad?” Kageyama insists, wiping at his wet face. 

Oikawa reaches over toward the tissue box nearby, grabbing one to wipe at Kageyama’s face. The boy flinches a moment before giving in, letting Oikawa hold his face steady and using his tissue hand to wipe away the streaks, “Even when they’re bad,” Oikawa confirms when he’s done. 

Kageyama has enough, pulling away and swatting at the hand. Oikawa snorts but relents, sitting back, “Well?”

“Well?” Kageyama repeats.

“What happened?” Oikawa asks again. 

Kageyama sinks into the couch, staring straight ahead at the blank TV, “I can’t play volleyball.”

Oikawa furrows his brow, “I thought Coach-san loved you?”

Kageyama rolls over, “Tachibana-sensei told on me, so now I can’t play. I hate him.”

“Tachibana-sensei is doing his job,” Oikawa reminds, “Because the project you didn’t do? If you do it you can play volleyball.”

“I don’t want to do it,” Kageyama murmurs. 

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do,” Oikawa replies, bringing his hand out to roll Kageyama the other way, so they’re facing each other, “What do you have to do?”

Kageyama keeps his gaze on the couch cushion below, voice quiet and broken, “Make a family tree.”

Oikawa softens and before he can really think twice about it his hand has come up to comb through Kageyama’s black hair. The boy flinches but relaxes, head leaning down into Oikawa’s lap. Oikawa keeps petting him, despite his better judgement and tries to ignore the sudden ache in his heart, “You should have told us.”

Kageyama shrugs, turning his head to press into Oikawa’s thigh, closing his eyes. Oikawa keeps smoothing the black locks, tucking them behind Kageyama’s ear, mind hurtling through different solutions at breakneck speeds. 

He could call Tachibana-sensei. He called Iwaizumi recently enough, and knowing his boyfriend he most likely didn’t think to save the phone number so he’ll have to dig through his list. But it’s definitely doable. Easy. He could explain the situation, maybe get a different assignment for Kageyama. Yeah, that could work. 

He lifts his head when the door opens, expecting Ushijima but only seeing Iwaizumi poke his head through. He’s still in uniform and if Oikawa wasn’t in such a pensive mood he would have whistled. 

Iwaizumi steps toward him, pausing to take in the scene of Kageyama curled up on Oikawa’s lap. It squeezes his heart, nice and tight, “Hey,” he greets, then kneels down beside them, “You alright?”

“Bruised,” Oikawa sighs, never pausing in his slow pets, “But I’ll heal.” He leans back on the couch, “Can you go look through Kageyama’s things? His book bag or his desk, see if you can find his final project assignment in there somewhere?”

“Is this what this is about?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“He’s failing,” Oikawa sighs, eyes looking down at the boy passed out against him, succumbing to the aftermath of his sobbing, “They won’t let him play if he fails.”

Iwaizumi nods grimly, straightening up and wincing when his knees audibly crack. Oikawa smiles, “Old man.”

“Respect your elders,” Iwaizumi retorts, turning away as Oikawa chuckles to himself, careful not to disrupt the slumbering boy. 

Iwaizumi returns to the living room with the offending folder, reading over the instructions carefully, “Says here it doesn’t  _ have _ to be his own family. Can be anyone, a famous celebrity, a historical figure, whatever he wants,” he explains, bringing the page a bit closer to his face, “He just needs to go back two generations on the visual poster and then write a detailed profile on one of the people.”

“He probably didn’t bother reading all that,” Oikawa snorts, lifting his unoccupied hand to take the paper himself, “Do you need glasses?”

“My eyes are fine,” Iwaizumi replies.

Oikawa raises a brow, “You were holding the sheet offly close.”

“I don’t need glasses.”

“I wear glasses.”

“My eyes are fine,” Iwaizumi repeats, ending the conversation by stepping away, “I’m gonna go let Toshi know he’s fine, he was freaking out earlier.”

“Was he?” Oikawa coos, “He saved my life, I’m forever indebted.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “He was worried about  _ Kageyama _ .”

Oikawa exaggerates his pout, waving him off as Iwaizumi steps out of view. He sinks back into the couch, trapped under the weight of the boy. He takes a moment to read over the entire assignment, cringes as he sees when it was assigned and due. October and November respectively.  December was upon them already. 

He sighs, looking down at the little boy in his lap, “You’re such a little gremlin.”

No one else is home, so he indulges himself, squeezing the boy a bit tightly to his chest. He lets his head drop to nuzzle into the black hair. He regrets it, grimacing at the smell. He needs to remind Kageyama how to wash away all the sweat properly. 

His indulgence rouses Kageyama up slightly. Oikawa lets him go, allowing him to sit up and rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms. 

“Feel better?” Oikawa asks.

“I’m hungry,” Kageyama states. 

“We’ll order pizza,” Iwaizumi decides, and Oikawa looks back over to find his two boyfriends coming into apartment. 

“Pizza!” Kageyama shouts, standing up on the couch. 

Oikawa tugs him back down, “Don’t stand on the couch!” He looks back over at the two other men, tilting his head, “What about the shop?”

Ushijima shakes his head, “I decided to close early.”

“We need all hands on deck,” Iwaizumi says. 

“For what?” Kageyama asks, taking off his shoes once he and Oikawa realize he still has them on. Oikawa helps him with the laces. 

“To help do your project!” Iwaizumi assures.

“You’ll help?” Kageyama asks. 

“You’re gonna have to take the lead but we can be the man power you need,” Iwaizumi nods. 

Kageyama blinks furiously, standing up on the couch and bending practically in half, “Thank you!”

Iwaizumi laughs, “No need to thank, Kageyama. That’s what we’re here for. To help.”

Oikawa tugs Kageyama back down, “What did I say about standing on the couch?”

“Now,” Iwaizumi says, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, “You need to decide what you want to do the project on. You can pick any person to do a family tree on. Maybe we can pick a famous volleyball player?”

Kageyama shakes his head, “I want to do it on me.”

“You do?” Oikawa asks.

Kageyama nods, “Me at the bottom,” he says, pointing at the sheet as proxy, “And then Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san, and then Oikawa-san’s mom and Auntie, and then Iwaizumi-san’s parents, and then Oba-chan too.”

“You want to do your assignment on us?” Ushijima asks. 

Kageyama looks a bit shy then, eyes looking about the room, never resting in one spot for long, “Oikawa-san said we were family now. So it works, right? Or...or can I not?”

“No, no, no,” Iwaizumi quickly shushes, “It’s fine. It’s, it’s more than fine.”

“We need poster board, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says.

“We have markers in the drawers, scissors and glue,” Ushijima lists off, “Printer paper.”

“So just the poster board then right?” Iwaizumi says, “I can go down the street, see if they have any. I just gotta change out of uniform first.”

Oikawa nods, standing up from the couch, he looks over at Kageyama, “Tobio, you have to pick someone to write the report on.”

Kageyama thinks a moment, glaring at the couch in deep concentration. He purses his lips and then his eyes alight, feet scrambling off the couch to race toward his bedroom. He comes back out, almost tripping on his feet over the blanket he’s carrying. Iwaizumi lunges forward, saving Kageyama from face planting completely onto the hardwood floors. 

Kageyama grins at them, forgetting to hide his smile, lifting up the blanket excitedly, “I want to write about Oba-chan!”

Ushijima blinks and then he smiles, soft and small. The warmth of it threatens to make Oikawa tear up so he looks away, busying himself with reading over the guidelines for the assignment again. 

“I believe she would love that,” Ushijima murmurs. Kageyama nods vigorously. 

Oikawa claps his hands to gather their attention, “Alright. Tobio, read over the report prompt with Ushiwaka-chan and think up questions to ask Oba-chan. Iwa-chan, buy a nice white poster board. What does everyone want on their pizza?”

Iwaizumi races out of the room quickly enough. Kageyama snatches the assignment sheet from Oikawa to start reading it over closely, perched on the kitchen island high chairs and hunched over the counter top. Oikawa digs out paper and pencil for them, placing it beside Kageyama before grabbing his phone and rifling through their take-out menu drawer. 

Ushijima sits beside Kageyama, letting him take his time. In the interim, he texts his mom to make sure she’s free, though he doubts she would be doing anything on a wednesday early evening. 

“Done!” Kageyama announces, nudging at Ushijima. Ushijima looks over, sliding the paper and pencil toward him. 

“What do we need to ask my mother?” Ushijima prompts. 

“Birthday,” Kageyama recites, “Where she lived. Siblings. What she did for a job. Anything cool or interesting.”

“Write it down so you remember,” Ushijima reminds, tapping on the paper. 

Kageyama nods again, pencil vigorously scratching at the paper. 

Oikawa sits down beside Ushijima, with his laptop out. He’s got facebook open, “Which picture of Fumiko is better?”

Ushijima points to the right one, but adds anyway, “Should we let Kageyama pick?”

“I figured it’s easier to print out the pictures he needs. He can arrange them how he wants,” Oikawa copies the photo into a word document, searching for a picture of his nephew next.

“You can use my profile picture,” Ushijima says.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, “You mean your college graduation picture you haven’t changed in five years? Seriously?”

Ushijima snorts, “Not all of us need to change our picture every day.”

“I do not change it every day,” Oikawa counters. Ushijima raises an eyebrow, pointing over at Oikawa’s new profile picture. “Ok first of all, that’s the same picture as before, I just added a new frame. It’s winter themed, and look, there’s a little pride flag. It’s cute.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Ushijima sighs.

“How else will people know I’m gay, Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa snaps, “Maybe some rich daddy will see my profile and pick me up.”

Ushijima actually barks out a laugh, a deep rumble in his cbest that has Oikawa giggling beside him. Ushijima quiets down, “I’m sure they would not need a little rainbow flag to pick up on your orientation, Oikawa.”

“Are you saying I look gay, Ushiwaka?” Oikawa gasps, voice pitching higher than necessary, “That’s offensive.”

Ushijima pulls Oikawa closer by hooking a finger under the hem of his t-shirt, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, “Your cover photo is Iwaizumi and I kissing your cheeks. I feel you make it obvious enough.”

“It’s a cute photo,” Oikawa insists. 

“It’s horribly staged.”

“I’m ready!” Kageyama announces, lifting up his chicken scratch list.

Oikawa focuses back on his task while Ushijima taps on his mother’s name on his cellphone. Her stern family portrait fills up the screen. He waits for her to answer him, giving a simple greeting before handing it off to Kageyama’s eager hand. 

“Hello Oba-chan! It’s Kageyama Tobio!” he practically shouts, sitting up a little in his seat, “How old are you?”

Oikawa snickers into his hand. Ushijima swallows, “Explain what this is for, first, Kageyama.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kageyama murmurs, “I have to make a family tree and write some stuff for Tachibana-sensei. Can I write about you?”

He seems to get the answer he wants, and he dives straight back into his questions. Ushijima cringes at every rude comment Kageyama manages to cry out without realizing-- _ wah, oba-chan is so old! Is that why you have so many wrinkles? Why are you so short?  _ His mother seems to force him to apologize after each and everyone, at least.

It’s an amusing one sided conversation to sit through, and about ten minutes into it the door opens to reveal Iwaizumi, balancing three pizzas and a poster board in his arms. Ushijima gets up to help him while Kageyama shushes them all to be more quiet. 

“The pizza guy was outside completely lost,” Iwaizumi laughs. 

“I’m telling you,” Oikawa says, as he pulls out the paper plates from the pantry, “We need to put a sign on the doorbell. They never see it.”

“It will block view of the plants,” Ushijima reminds, “Kageyama, what do you want to drink?”

“Shh,” Kageyama says instead, glaring at them, “Stop talking.”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi warns, “Be nice.”

“Sorry,” Kageyama mutters.

“Just get him water,” Oikawa says. 

Kageyama finishes his phone call soon enough, passing the cell back to Ushijima who thanks his mother for her time. Oikawa and Iwaizumi both call out a greeting but all they are met with is an audible click and Ushijima’s apologetic face. 

Kageyama grabs at his pizza plate excitedly, and Iwaizumi is quick to move away his scrawled notes less they get even less legible with the grease dribbling down. 

They make quick work of the three pizzas and soon enough Oikawa has Iwaizumi shifting their living room furniture so they can lay the poster down flat on the floor. Ushijima helps Kageyama get settled with the laptop and start out his short report. 

It’s excruciating to get Kageyama writing, the boy taking his time to think up what he wants to say. He second guesses every sentence, deletes half of them before he even finishes the thought. Ushijima has no concept of what an eleven year old’s writing level should be at, so he is at a loss on what council to offer. He switches out with both Iwaizumi and Oikawa, the former equally powerless and the latter absolutely frustrated by what he sees. 

Eventually, Kageyama decides he’s finished, and he hands over the laptop for Oikawa to look over. Oikawa rubs his eyes, decides to spell check the thing and then leave the rest as is, lest they get in trouble for meddling  _ too much _ . 

Iwaizumi has cut out all the pictures Oikawa’s printed and he has them laid out for Kageyama. Kageyama sits next to them, shuffling through the photos and laying them out on the poster as he sees fit. He starts with himself at the bottom. He puts Oikawa, Ushijima and Iwaizumi above him in that order. 

“Who’s this?” Kageyama asks, holding up a photo to Iwaizumi.

“That’s Oikawa-san’s nephew,” Iwaizumi explains, “His names Takeru. Remember Auntie Fumiko? She’s his mom.”

Kageyama nods, putting down the picture near Oikawa’s for now. He cycles through more of the photographs. “Who’s this?”

Iwaizumi takes the photo, “That’s Oikawa-san’s dad.”

“Oikawa-san!” Kageyama shouts, watching for the man to look over from his seat on the couch with the laptop, “Is it ok if your dad is on the poster?” he then leans into Iwaizumi, cupping a hand around his mouth to whisper loudly, “Oikawa-san’s parents are divorced.” Iwaizumi smiles.

“He’d be angry if we left him out,” Oikawa calls back. 

Kageyama nods and puts the picture down above Oikawa’s and next to his mothers. He draws a line connecting the two and then a big X over it. He finishes going through the pile, setting them where he wants the pictures to be. Ushijima follows after him, straightening up the pictures as they go. Kageyama appraises his work, “Ushijima-san, do you have a dad?”

“He left when I was very little. I don’t have pictures of him.” 

Kageyama nods, “That’s okay. I don’t know my dad either. Mom said he was a dumbass anyway.”

“Language!” Oikawa shouts, from the couch, “Ushiwaka, I just sent the report to the printer. Can you, can you go get it?” he manages, unable to stifle the yawn that escapes him mid sentence.  

“Let’s finish this up, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi urges, trying to fight down his own yawn in turn. Kageyama grabs at the glue stick offered to him and gets to work. 

It takes a long while, re-gluing the edges that Kageyama misses, helping him spell out all the names with his marker, making sure he remembers to switch out his colors and create a legend.

“I think Oikawa’s fallen asleep,” Ushijima mutters, sitting up to peer over the back of the couch. 

“That’s dumb,” Kageyama mutters, looking around for the cap of his marker. 

Iwaizumi hands it to him, “Be nice, Kageyama,” he says, “Oikawa-san pulled an all nighter on a case last night. That’s why he was home today.”

“Oh,” Kageyama says, focusing back on his poster. He hadn’t even really questioned why Oikawa was home so early to begin with.

“Should I carry him or you?” Ushijima asks. 

Iwaizumi waves him off, “Go for it, big guy.”

“Can I help?” Kageyama asks. 

Iwaizumi laughs, “Maybe when you get a little stronger. Come on, you need to sleep too. We’re almost done.”

Kageyama frowns, eyes trained on Ushijima as he walks over to the couch and picks up a slumbering Oikawa in his arms. He looks like a scene from an old animated movie Kageyama had watch a long time ago. Ushijima-san like some faraway prince and Oikawa-san a sleeping princess. But that didn’t really work, because Oikawa-san wasn’t sweet and dainty, and Ushijima wasn’t very outgoing and didn’t even have a horse. Plus, what would Iwaizumi-san be, then? The dragon? That would be kind of cool, actually. 

“Focus, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi urges again. 

They finish soon enough and Iwaizumi reminds Kageyama he needs to brush his teeth and change. Once he’s settled in his bed Iwaizumi bids him good night. He steps away into the master bedroom unable to stop the smile at the sight of Oikawa curled tightly around Ushijima’s arm in the bed. 

“I apologize, I wanted to return to you but Oikawa would not let me,” Ushijima whispers. Iwaizumi shakes his head, stripping out of his shirt and pants before crawling into the bed on Oikawa’s otherside. 

“He still asleep?” Iwaizumi murmurs. 

Ushijima nods. 

Iwaizumi lifts his hand to card through Oikawa’s hair. Oikawa’s head turns toward it instinctively, but his breathing remains the same, still deep in slumber. Iwaizumi grins, hand coming down to trace around Oikawa’s ear and jaw. 

“It’s not fair how pretty he is,” Iwaizumi mutters, “I swear he never got a single pimple growing up.”

“Really?” Ushijima asks. 

Iwaizumi nods, “I was pissed. I’m glad you never saw me when I was fourteen. You could  have played connect the dots with my entire face.”

Ushijima chuckles lightly, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oikawa always wanted to pop them.”

“That’s disgusting,” Ushijima shudders.

Iwaizumi laughs, trying to stay quiet, “Yeah, he’s always been pretty nasty,” he looks down at Oikawa, stroking the top of his head, “Always gets what he wants.”

Ushijima snorts, “You say that so often.”

“It’s true,” Iwaizumi sighs, settling down to rest his head on his pillow. 

“Do you even realize,” Ushijima murmurs, face nuzzling into Oikawa’s hair as he turns to face the both of them, “That Oikawa bends over backwards to let you have everything.”

Iwaizumi furrows his brows, “No, he doesn’t. Rarely even.”

Ushijima raises a sleepy brow, closing his eyes, “He let you have me,” he begins, “He let you have Kageyama, he settled here instead of Tokyo, he--”

“Ok, I get it, he, he definitely has--”

“All the important things,” Ushijima interrupts, “He adores you, Iwaizumi, he really does. And that’s why, it hurts him when you say,” he yawns, “when you say he’s being selfish with his parents. He just wants you to take his side, is all.”

“Why are you saying this now?” Iwaizumi mutters, “We’re not, we’re not even fighting about it anymore. He hasn’t, you know...He’s basically over it.”

Ushijima blinks his eyes open, “Divorce isn’t something you get over. It’s not something with a finite end. It ebbs and flows, just like anything else in life. I bring it up because it’s as good a time as any to do so. Because I feel as though you will listen in this moment. I apologize if I misspoke and offended, I am tired and simply speaking my mind.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s, it’s fine. I get it.”

“Oikawa sacrifices a lot for you, for both of us. I know that his parents practically raised you too, and your perception of them is rose tinted, but there is a lot you seem to willfully ignore. It wears him down. Keep it in mind, is what I am saying, I suppose.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, staring straight up at the ceiling. He rolls the words over in his mind because maybe Ushijima is right. Maybe. But he can’t really think of anything horrible Oikawa’s parents have ever done. He still can’t even wrap his head around the fact they’re separating. It just seems so out of character for the both of them.

Ushijima’s hand brings him back, swung over Oikawa’s sleeping body and resting on his upper bicep. Iwaizumi flicks his gaze over. “I spoke to frankly,” Ushijima murmurs, “I have made you upset. I am sorry. I know how much you love him. I was not questioning that.”

Iwaizumi lifts his hand to put it over Ushijima’s, rubbing the skin with his thumb, “I’m not upset, just thinking.” He pauses a moment, furrowing his brow, “Your hands are really soft.”

“I have been using Oikawa’s moisturizer.”

“Huh,” Iwaizumi huffs, “Maybe I should too, then.”

They quiet down then, sleep pulling their eyelids down. They nuzzle closer together, sandwhich Oikawa between them, drifting off ever so slowly. 

Until there door opens wide, making Iwaizumi jolt up instinctively, “Who’s there?!”

“Wha-!?” Oikawa screams, sitting up, startled awake by the shout and sudden movement. Ushijima quickly flicks his light on. 

Kageyama stands by the door, looking a bit pale at the reaction he had received.

The three men relax. Oikawa sinks back down onto the bed with a groan. Iwaizumi rubs his jaw, “What is it Kageyama?” he asks, perhaps a bit too gruffly than necessary. 

“I know what I want for my birthday,” Kageyama says, legs fidgeting with the rug at the foot of the bed, “I didn’t want to forget.”

“Oh my God,” Oikawa hisses, “I’m going to kill him.”

Ushijima kicks him under the blanket, but it doesn’t seem as if Kageyama heard him at all. “What would you like?”

Kageyama fidgets with the hem of his pajama shirt, “I want everyone to help me with my homework again.”

Iwaizumi squints at him, “You have another project to do?”

Kageyama shakes his head, “No.”

“I  _ need _ to sleep!” Oikawa moans, aggressively pulling the covers over his head to block out the light.

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Iwaizumi assures. 

“Okay,” Kageyama nods, shuffling back out, but he presses his head in before he shuts the door completely, “I’m sorry I woke you, Oikawa-san!”

He slams the door shut without realizing.

Ushijima manages to get the pillow out of Oikawa’s hands before he can throw it. Iwaizumi snickers into his own hand. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill that kid,” Oikawa threatens, voice deeper than usual, “And then I’m gonna kill the both of you. And then myself so I can finally rest. So you both better shut the hell up and let me sleep.”

“Good night, sweetie,” Iwaizumi coos, no stranger to this particular shade of Oikawa. It was no secret that Oikawa  _ needed _ his beauty sleep to function.  

Oikawa actually hisses at him before shoving his face into his pillow in an effort to get back to sleep.

Kageyama opens the door again, “Iwaizumi-san, I can’t find Oba-chan’s blanket!”

“Oh my  _ God!”  _ Oikawa shouts into his pillow, muffled more so by the sudden pressure on the back of his head keeping him down. He bets it’s Iwaizumi’s hand. The traitor. He was dead to him. Absolutely dead to him.

The pressure leaves him as Iwaizumi hops out of bed, “I think it’s in the kitchen. But after this we have to sleep, ok.”

The pair leave the room and once their out of sight Ushijima allows Oikawa to have his pillow back. 

Oikawa throws the pillow anyway, enjoying the thud of it hitting the door immensely. Ushijima sighs, getting up to retrieve it. 

“Good boy,” Oikawa giggles, when he gets the pillow back. 

“I am not your dog,” Ushijima mutters. 

“You fetch pretty good,” Oikawa counters, nuzzling back into his pillow. 

Ushijima bites him. 

Oikawa swats him away with a giggle more akin to a squeal, and once he’s able to curl around Ushijima again he finally manages to drift back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow what a soft fluffy chapter! yay for family bonding
> 
> don't worry we're not done with the angst train just yet. 
> 
> reviews keep me going <3
> 
> until next time


	11. Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama’s voice is quiet and unsure, fingers twisting the blanket laid out over him, “Are Oikawa-san and Ushijima-san going to come back?”
> 
> Iwaizumi’s shoulders droop, “They’ll come back, Kageyama.” 
> 
> “How do you know for sure?” Kageyama asks. 
> 
> Iwaizumi smiles, “I trust them to.” He licks his dry lips, stepping back to flick the light off, “I trust them with all my heart.”

“Can we eat yet?” Kageyama asks, kicking his feet out under the table.

“Not yet,” Ushijima says. Both he and Iwaizumi have their eyes trained on Oikawa’s bedroom door, straining to hear the conversation behind it. But Kageyama keeps fidgeting, making his chopsticks clack on his bowl and his chair scrape against the wood, so it’s impossible to decipher anything. 

“I’m hungry,” Kageyama reminds.

“I’ll check on him,” Iwaizumi murmurs, and Ushijima hesitates but decides not to stop him in the end. 

Iwaizumi knocks on the door before opening it, finding Oikawa sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s hunched over, elbows balanced on his knees, one hand supporting his face, the other holding out the phone away from his ear, speaker blaring out a crackling voice. 

Oikawa looks up at him and his eyes look glazed, puffed around the edges. Iwaizumi frowns, makes a motion to come in but Oikawa shakes his head. He lifts it from his palm and waves him off.  _ Eat _ , he signals him,  _ I’m going to be a while _ .

Iwaizumi lingers another moment.

Oikawa brings the phone back toward his ear, “I get it, Dad, I get it. You--” he huffs, the other voice never stopping in its current tirade. Oikawa looks back over at Iwaizumi and waves him off again, a bit more emphatically. 

Iwaizumi closes the door. 

He returns to the table and starts dishing out the rice without a word. Kageyama sits up eagerly to start shoveling the food in his mouth. Ushijima frowns. Iwaizumi still fills up Oikawa’s plate, making sure to give him extra soy sauce like he prefers. 

They eat in relative silence, none of them particular talkers, especially when the air is heavy around them. Kageyama doesn’t seem to mind, adding comments sporadically about the day without prompting, sometimes repeating them without realizing.  _ I didn’t miss a single recieve today! Koto-san said I might become a starting setter next year! _

Ushijima clears the table when they finish while Iwaizumi asks Kageyama to show him his finished homework. It’s the new routine, and although Kageyama finds it frustrating, it’s easy to tell how needed it is. Kageyama tends to skip questions--most questions--figuring he’ll come back to them and then forgetting to do so completely. 

Iwaizumi sits him back down in front of the counter with his paper and pencil as he tries to work through the last few math questions. He takes the seat next to him to keep him on task, pulling out his phone to scroll through his work emails. 

“He is still in there,” Ushijima murmurs as he grabs the cling wrap from the cabinet. He wraps up Oikawa’s dinner plate before placing it into the fridge. 

Iwaizumi glances over at the closed door.

“Iwaizumi-san! I’m done!” Kageyama shouts, handing over the sheet. Iwaizumi takes it, reading it over. All the answers have been filled out and he doesn’t see any glaring miscalculations. He nods.

“Good job, bud. Put it in your clearfile,” he ruffles Kageyama’s hair. 

“Can I go to my room now?” Kageyama asks. 

Iwaizumi nods and lets the boy dash off. He slumps on the counter when he hears the door slam shut. He traces invisible shapes on the marble until Ushijima’s hand over his stops him. 

“Who?” Ushijima asks. 

“Uncle,” Iwaizumi answers, lifting his head to clarify, “His dad.”

Ushijima nods, flicking his gaze back at the cup he’s drying. Iwaizumi sighs. He gets up to help put the dry dishes back in the cabinet and its when the pair are almost done the chore that Oikawa finally comes out of his room. 

He’s red around the eyes and the smile on his face threatens to tear him right in half. 

“Hungry?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“What are we doing for New Year’s?” Oikawa asks instead, leaning against the counter. Ushijima and Iwaizumi share a glance followed by mirrored shrugs. Oikawa’s smile stretches even thinner, “Great! My dad’s coming over. For a nice family holiday. Here. In our tiny apartment.”

“That’s fine,” Iwaizumi says, “He can stay in Ushijima and I’s room.”

  
“Great!” Oikawa says, “Perfect. Fantastic. I’m so pumped. I can’t wait.” He stretches his hands above his head, fingers digging into his palms, “He was feeling left out that we did a family reunion a while ago and he wasn’t invited, even though going to his place would have been super out of the way. What a silly guy!” 

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says slowly, “Is there anything else?”

“Anything else?” Oikawa repeats, voice almost screeching up two octaves, “I don’t know! Am I forgetting something?” He taps his chin exaggeratedly, “Oh, that’s right! He’s bringing his fucking girlfriend.”

Iwaizumi pales. Ushijima swallows, and recovers sooner, “Tooru--”

“Nope!” Oikawa says, pulling his lips into his mouth to press them thinly together, “Nope, nope nope. Not getting into now. I’m just going to go back into my room and scream in my pillow a little longer. And then tomorrow, I’m going to the liquor store and purchasing enough alcohol so I when I wake up from my coma it’s January 2nd.”

Iwaizumi looks winded, eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion, trying to parse through any of this. It doesn’t make any sense. Oikawa-san was always such a hard working sensible man. He’s only ever seen him in his nicely pressed suits and polished watch, smiling up at Auntie or patting the tops of Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s heads. He still remembers the countless summer evenings in Oikawa’s backyard, the ice cold lemonade and firefly catching lessons. It doesn’t make sense.

Oikawa looks like he’s cracking at every seam, and Iwaizumi wants to alleviate him, but he doesn’t know what to say to make sense of any of this. He does what he always does in the face of adversity, he clings to the bright side, to the light, to the hope it’ll all be fine. “Maybe she’s nice?”

It’s not the right thing to say. 

Oikawa stares at him, mouth parting in shock before his lips peels back, curling to reveal his teeth in a snarl, “I don’t give a flying shit if she’s nice!”

Iwaizumi winces and realizes quite easily his mistake. But before he can rectify it, Oikawa has stormed out of their apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. “Shit,” Iwaizumi hisses, running a finger up through his hair, “I didn’t, I didn’t mean it like that.”   
  
Ushijima is still looking at the door, “He did not take his coat.” He maneuvers around Iwaizumi, putting on his own jacket and grabbing Oikawa’s stylish one, “I will go talk to him.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t fight him on it. He’s fucked up enough as is. 

He’s about to bang his fist on the countertop to expel his anger when he catches sight of Kageyama peering out of his room. He stops himself, letting out a breath through his nose instead. 

“Hey, Kageyama,” he greets, voice tired. 

Kageyama ventures out completely, clutching his volleyball tight to his chest, “Is Oikawa-san ok?”

Iwaizumi sighs, “He’s upset.”

Kageyama frowns, “Does he need oranges?”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kageyama shakes his head, “Never mind. Can I have some milk?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi mumbles, happy for the distraction.

Kageyama hops up onto the high chair, wedging his volleyball between his lap and the countertop, “Why is Oikawa-san upset?”

“Family stuff,” Iwaizumi says.

“Is it because his mom and dad are divorced now?” Kageyama asks, reaching over for the milk glass, “Is his dad a dumbass too?”

Iwaizumi can’t help the snort, “Don’t curse, Kageyama.”

“My mom said my dad used to use up all our money on horses. I don’t know if she was lying though because I don’t remember ever having horses. Our house was too small for one. We could maybe have one in our backyard but if we did I would have remembered it because I liked being in our backyard.”

Iwaizumi smiles, leaning his elbows against the counter so his hands could cradle his face , “She probably meant he gambled on horse races.”

Kageyama shrugs, the details not really mattering to him, “He used to use up all our money on the horses and so my mom hated him and then she made him leave. But then mom would use up all  _ her  _ money on her fancy bottles, but I guess, at least, she had those in the house and stuff.”

Iwaizumi looks at the boy carefully, “Do you miss your mom, Kageyama?”

Kageyama shrugs, falling quiet. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t press. He takes his empty glass and places it in the sink after rinsing it out. He helps Kageyama down from the chair, “Let’s get ready for bed.”

Kageyama doesn’t fight it, following Iwaizumi’s lead and brushing his teeth with him in the bathroom. He changes into his pajamas and climbs into his bed while Iwaizumi straightens up his desk a little, mostly to fill the silence. 

“Iwaizumi-san?” Kageyama murmurs.

Iwaizumi looks over, “Hmm?”

Kageyama’s voice is quiet and unsure, fingers twisting the blanket laid out over him, “Are Oikawa-san and Ushijima-san going to come back?”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders droop, “They’ll come back, Kageyama.”

“How do you know for sure?” Kageyama asks. 

Iwaizumi smiles, “I trust them to.” He licks his dry lips, stepping back to flick the light off, “I trust them with all my heart.”

* * *

Kageyama’s birthday is in the middle of the turmoil.

It ends up being a quiet and simple affair. It’s just them, Kageyama having insisted he didn’t want to invite anyone from school, or do anything crazy, and in the hectic atmosphere they don’t really push him on it. 

Kageyama is content with his vanilla cake and his gifts. Ushijima gives him his own plant to take care of, which has the boy ecstatic. The plant has its own little place on the balcony and Ushijima tells him he’ll have to water it every other day himself to keep it alive and well.

Iwaizumi gives him Zilla-kun which Kageyama calls a lizard at some point. Iwaizumi regrets momentarily, giving hs childhood companion away, but Kageyama keeps it on his lap for the rest of the evening, and that’s enough to warm Iwaizumi’s heart. 

Oikawa gives Kageyama a cell phone. He sets it up for him, shows him how to use it, and adds all their numbers to his favorites. It comes with headphones and Kageyama is excited to have music for the walk to school to drown out the world around him. 

It’s simple and quiet, and Iwaizumi can’t help but feel it seems underwhelming. But Kageyama is happy, and that, he supposes is enough. Still, his stomach rocks within him, especially when Oikawa escapes to the bedroom for the majority of the pleasant evening, foregoing even the cake to sulk in his bed.

Oikawa has been distant. He stays at work long hours, enough that Yahaba has called Iwaizumi twice to check in. But there’s nothing Iwaizumi is privy to say other than to let him be. And so the days pass, getting colder and colder, in more ways than one.  

“Iwaizumi-san!” Kageyama calls, when Iwaizumi enters the apartment, still clad in his police uniform, “Iwaizumi-san!”

“What’s up?” Iwaizumi asks, hanging his coat on the rack and brushing off some of the snow from the shoulders. Ushijima is still downstairs with the store so Kageyama must have been up here by himself for a while.

“You need to sign this,” Kageyama says, shoving a paper in his face, “Right now.”

“What is it?” Iwaizumi asks, bringing the paper down so he can actually read it. 

Kageyama tugs on one edge of the paper to look it over with him, “Volleyball Team has a retreat after break and I want to go but you have to sign this for me to go.”

“Ooh, fun,” Iwaizumi says, placing the sheet down on the counter. He pats his pockets for a pen but Kageyama is handing him one. Iwaizumi smiles at his eagerness. “This is a week long, you gonna be ok without us for a few days?”

Kageyama nods, “That’s fine,” he says, “It’s normal.”

Iwaizumi’s smile drops but he says nothing, leaning down and signing the form. He hands it back to the boy who disappears off to his room to put it in his bag for safe keeping. 

Iwaizumi gets to work on dinner, setting up the rice cooker and digging through the fridge for what to make. Ushijima comes up soon enough after closing up the store, but he doesn’t stick around. He grabs his coat, “Oikawa needs me to run to the liquor store. Do you require anything?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “What time is he coming tomorrow?”

Ushijima opens up the door, “I think around dinnertime?”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi nods. 

“It will only be three days.”

“Is Oikawa going to make it?” Iwaizumi sighs. 

Ushijima doesn’t answer.

“Who’s coming tomorrow?” Kageyama asks, having re-appeared at some point. 

Iwaizumi looks over at him, “Oikawa-san’s dad, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Kageyama shrugs, “I forgot.”

Iwaizumi wishes he could too.

Dinner’s ready to be served by the time his boyfriends return, Ushijima cradling several paper bags and Oikawa typing away at something on his phone. 

Iwaizumi takes some of the bags from Ushijima’s arms, setting them down on the countertop. Oikawa doesn’t look over, just toes off his shoes, walks to the couch and face plants upon it. He lets out a dull whine and Iwaizumi feels the tension in his shoulder leave him. The noise is a welcome relief. This Oikawa, a whiny, pitiful dramatic Oikawa, is one he knows how to deal with. 

He smiles and ventures over to Oikawa, “Move or I’ll sit on you.”

Oikawa lets out another unpleasant groan. 

Iwaizumi sits on him, earning him an indignant squawk. He laughs, standing back up, and using the distraction to flip Oikawa back over. He clambers on top of him ignoring the feeble attempts to get him away, until he can rest fully atop him. He lets his full weight rest on his boyfriend, knowing he can take it, knowing Oikawa’s been looking at weighted blanks the past few weeks on their joint amazon account, knowing Oikawa’s always enjoyed feeling grounded like this. 

“You’re gonna be ok,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa pauses, hands falling back down and nesting into Iwaizumi’s hair, “You think so?”

“I know so,” Iwaizumi assures. 

Oikawa snorts, glancing toward the back of the couch, fingers playing with Iwaizumi’s hair, “I can’t believe him.” He shakes his head, bringing an arm back to lay across his face, covering his eyes, “It hasn’t even been six months.”

“You had a new girlfriend every week in high school,” Iwaizumi reminds him. 

Oikawa huffs, bringing his arm down to look at Iwaizumi, “That’s different. I wanted to make you jealous.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

“I know!” Oikawa bemoans, loudly, legs kicking out “It’s infuriating.”

Iwaizumi snickers, leaning up to kiss his cheeks, “It’s three days and then it’s over. You got this.”

He gets up, remembering dinner will get cold soon if they don’t start. He offers a hand to Oikawa, who takes it, standing up as well. “Plus,” Iwaizumi continues, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

* * *

It’s not what Oikawa is expecting at all.

It’s definitely not what Ushijima is expecting but nor is he complaining. 

Ushijima has always been at a loss for how to interact with Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s parents. He wants to be in their good graces more than anything, but the odds are stacked disproportionately against his favor. Not only is he a man, but he is the  _ second _ man, and a  _ stranger  _ at that. 

Iwaizumi and Oikawa float through each other’s homes unimpeded and wholly welcome, they practically share parents at this point. It’s second nature for them to be in each other’s presence. 

Ushijima is out of place, a pesky weed in an otherwise perfect garden, and he’s reminded of that fact with every second glance and awkward smile he receives. And every mispronunciation of his name.

So when Oikawa’s father makes a point to search him out the minute he and Oikawa set his bags down, he is shocked. He schools his features regardless and gives the man an acknowledging nod. 

In the background he can see Iwaizumi helping Oikawa bring the bags to their bedroom and he overhears something about  _ Sakura  _ being on a later train because of work, something about how the snow storm outside is making a mess of everything. But then he can’t pick up anything else because Oikawa’s father starts speaking to him. 

“Ushijima,” Oikawa’s father looks older than he remembers, the gray hairs sprinkled throughout his brown hair no longer hidden, the bags under his eyes more noticeable. But there is a definite sparkle in his brown orbs, and it reminds Ushijima of Oikawa, if only a little, “You know plants, right?”

“I do,” Ushijima nods, ushering the man to take a seat on the couch, “Is there something you need help with?”

“As a matter of fact, yes!” the man says excitedly, standing back up and looking around, “Oh, where did they put my bags? Well, I’ll show you later, anyway,” he sits back down, smoothing his hair back just like Oikawa tends to do, “I don’t know if Tooru told you but I’ve picked up a new hobby in retirement and I wanted your advice.”

“Oh,” Ushijima blinks, “Gardening?”

Oikawa-san grins, hands painting a small arc in front of his face, “Bonsais.”

Ushijima’s eyes widen, “Really?”

Oikawa-san nods eagerly, “I would love your help setting up my new one. It’s in the back of my car downstairs.”

Ushijima’s fingers twitch in his lap, “I would greatly appreciate helping you. Sculpting bonsais is something I rarely am able to indulge in.”

“I knew you would understand,” the man laughs, slapping an affectionate hand against Ushijima’s back, “Let’s go fetch it. I’m sure the two of us can manage it on our own. You look much stronger than my twig of a son.”

Ushijima grimaces but gets up anyway to follow him out. Oikawa’s father keeps talking, filling in their silence as they hop down the steps. Something about how he’s enjoying his retirement, his freedom, his new apartment and how close it is to the city now. He’s thinking of getting a dog, because Sakura loves them and he never could get one before. 

Ushijima nods along, helping open up the back of the car and taking the small untrimmed tree in its pot. Oikawa-san grabs his box of supplies, leaning it against his car so he can lock the vehicle again. 

When they get back upstairs, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are chatting quietly in the kitchen. The sound of the door pauses their discussion. Oikawa groans at the sight of them, “You brought one  _ here _ ?”

“Tooru’s always been such a worry wart,” Oikawa-san explains putting his box down on the coffee table. Oikawa grimaces but his father isn’t looking at him, “He gets it from his mother.”

“Can we not get dirt all over our living room?” Oikawa interrupts, “Can’t you do this in the shop?”

“We’re not going to do it  _ now _ ,” his father answers, waving him off, “I want Ushijima to look it over first.”

“Kageyama!” Iwaizumi calls, “Come meet Oikawa-san’s dad!”

Ushijima is crouched around the plant, looking intensely at the thin trunk and branches coming out. He marks in his head the ones that will have to go, the ones that will stay and the ones that should be wired together. He turns the pot, trying to decide which way the tree naturally leans. 

Oikawa’s father bends over near him, “I think it’s going to the left, see.”

Ushijima nods wordlessly, turning the plant to confirm. 

“What kind of plant is that?” Kageyama asks, crouching near them curiously without either of them noticing.

“Japanese Maple,” Ushijima and Oikawa-san end up answering at the same time. They look at each other, Oikawa-san patting his shoulder good naturedly before straightening up. 

Kageyama looks up at him, fidgeting his hands on his long sleeves. He tries to take in the stranger. He’s old, with wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, his hair a dusty brown peppered with gray. He has stubble coating his chin and cheeks and thick glasses perched on his nose. He’s tall. 

He smiles, and Kageyama can’t decipher if it’s safe, “You must be Tobio!”

Kageyama stares at him. 

“He’s shy,” Oikawa mentions, “You both need to wash your hands before we can eat.”

“Kageyama,” Ushijima murmurs, “Oikawa-san and I are going to sculpt this into a bonsai tree tomorrow. Do you know what a bonsai is?”

Kageyama nods, holding his hands up and bringing them close together,  _ small _ .

“Would you like to help?” Ushijima asks. 

Kageyama nods. 

“Dad,” Oikawa says, “What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever Hajime’s having,” he says, sending Iwaizumi a grin. Iwaizumi returns it and Oikawa can’t help but roll his eyes at them. He sighs, and Iwaizumi comes over to help him set up the table. 

His father glances toward  his phone when it buzzes in his pocket, “Sakura finally got on her train,” he mutters, “Snows gotten worse and they kept changing her train time, but she should get here in like an hour and a half or so we can eat without her. Don’t worry I can pick her up.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, keeping his head in the fridge and counting to ten. Iwaizumi’s hand brushes against his back as he passes by. Ushijima gets Kageyama to help set the table. 

Dinner is civil. Oikawa-san keeps the conversation going mostly. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to focus too much on Kageyama at all, more invested in talking about his new hobby and about the trip he and Sakura are planning for next month, to spend Chinese New Year in Hong Kong in her hometown.

They finish eating and Kageyama goes to his room without issue, letting the adults descend upon the living room with their drinks. Eventually his father gets the call from his girlfriend and steps out to fetch her. No one offers to go with him and he doesn’t ask. When he closes the door behind him the room falls into a tense silence.

Iwaizumi hands Oikawa the couch cushion behind him. Oikawa presses it to his face.

He screams. 

“Oikawa, it’s not  _ that _ ba--” Iwaizumi tries. 

“Hong Kong?” Oikawa shrieks, lifting his face up and squeezing the cushion with his fingers tight enough that he feels the thread dig under his nails, “He met this woman three weeks ago! He’s never taken mom anywhere!  _ Us  _ anywhere!” he throws the pillow on the ground, ruffling his hair with his own anxious hands, “And he’s so fucking unaware. All fake smiles. And if he tells me another shitty factoid about bonsais I’m going to jump off our balcony. He’s gone absolutely insane. Insane.”

“Bonsai is a very interesting hobby,” Ushijima can’t help but defend, picking the cushion up from the floor. 

“I can’t believe he’s here for two more days,” Oikawa moans into his hands, “I can’t do this.”

Iwaizumi squeezes his shoulder. “You know,” he says aloud, “Once they’re gone, Kageyama still has a few days off from school, we can close the shop and I can pull some vacation days.”

Oikawa squints at him. 

Iwaizumi smiles conspiratorially, leaning in closer, “I don’t think Kageyama has seen a  _ single _ Star Wars film.”

Oikawa blinks, sitting up, pulling his shoulder free, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Two words,” Iwaizumi grins, “Movie. Marathon.”

“God, Hajime,” Oikawa purrs, “You just saying that is turning me on.”

Iwaizumi snorts. Ushijima rolls his eyes, “You both are incredibly weird.”

Oikawa pokes at his cheek, “You just don’t appreciate the beauty of multi-day movie marathons, Ushiwaka-chan. You’re uncultured.”

Ushijima rolls his eyes, grabbing the fingers and attempting to pull them into his mouth to bite them. Oikawa lets out a shrieking giggle, wrenching his fingers free, the momentum causing him to half fall onto Iwaizumi’s side. Iwaizumi catches him easily, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, “Will that give you the strength to keep going?”

Oikawa twists his head to catch his lips, “I suppose I’ll have to live through this disaster after all.” And his smile is honest and true, and it’s a relief to see it after so long. 

It’s still not enough to prepare him. 

When his father returns to the house, carrying his girlfriend’s bag and her hand in his free one, he introduces her with a wide grin to a silent room. Sakura smiles sheepishly at the three of them, bowing her head. She lifts her pale hand to slip her long black hair back behind her ear, her bracelets clinking together loudly in everyone’s ears. 

When they’re met with silence, Oikawa’s father steps in further, taking the initiative, “This is my son, Tooru.” 

Oikawa stands up at his name and offers his hand. She takes it with an awkward smile, “It’s nice to finally meet you Oikawa-kun. You’re a lawyer right? I’m interested in law as well.” 

Oikawa nods slowly. 

“And these are his roommates,” Oikawa-san continues, ignoring how three pairs of eyes suddenly turn straight toward him, “Iwaizumi Hajime, who we’ve known since he and Tooru were five, and Ushiijima Waka, uh,”

“Wakatoshi,” Ushijima says.

“Wakatoshi,” Oikawa-san nods, “Who they met in college.”

Sakura bows again, “It’s very nice to meet you all. Hideki-kun has told me so much about you all. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

Iwaizumi nods, stepping forward, realizing that Oikawa has completely short circuited. “Here, you can put your stuff down in your room.” He takes the bag from Oikawa-san’s hands, motioning for her to follow him as he leads her down the hallway.

“Ushiwaka,” Oikawa clears his throat, “If you’ll excuse us for a moment?”

Ushijima hesitates, but one scathing glare from his boyfriend has him heading for Kageyama’s room for shelter. 

Once they’re alone, Oikawa-san puts his hands in his pockets, “Tooru--”

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” Oikawa hisses, trying his best to keep his voice low, but rapidly losing his will to keep up any sort of polite facade. 

“You’re being dramatic,” his father sighs.

“How old is she?” Oikawa demands.

“Stop jumping to conclusions,” his father snaps. 

“How old is she?” Oikawa asks again, voice nearing hysterical.

His father shrugs, “She’s twenty three.”

Oikawa pales, pulling back, “Twenty-three,” he repeats, covering his mouth with his hand, “Twenty-three! That’s! That’s, that’s practically  _ Takeru _ ’s age! You can’t be serious!”

“Tooru, I am not having this argument.”

Oikawa’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull, “You’re cheating on mom with someone younger than your son and you expect me  _ not _ to scream!?”

“I have  _ never _ cheated on your mother,” his father shouts back ferociously, leveling him a severe glare that has sent Oikawa into spiraling tears so many times before, “Don’t ever say that. Did she tell you that nonsense?”

“No, I--” Oikawa lets out a frustrated sigh, akin more to a growl, “I can’t even, this is  _ crazy _ , Dad. Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke.”

“I’m not going to sit through you policing  _ my _ relationship when I’ve had to sit back and watch you do as you please for the past decade.”

Oikawa grits his teeth, “Oh right, what’s this about my  _ roommates _ , hmm?”

His father scowls, “What else am I supposed to tell her?”

“Well, you best figure it out, because if you plan to stay here for three days she’s going to be leaving with plenty of questions.”

“Tooru--”

“No,” Oikawa snaps, “I’m not hearing any of it. I’m going to bed and hoping this is all just some twisted nightmare that’ll dissipate by morning.”

Oikawa storms into his room, finding it blessedly empty. He locks the door behind him, taking in a shaky breath. He shoves the heels of his palms into his eyes, but it does little to stop the sudden downpour on his face. He hiccups, at a loss for what to do. He doesn’t want to talk to Ushijima. He doesn’t want to talk to Iwaizumi. He definitely doesn’t want to talk to his mom. 

He slips his phone out, pressing one of his highlighted contacts and brings the cell up to his ear shakily. He tries to compose himself, taking in breaths and pushing his bangs out of his eyes. But the moment the familiar voice, speaks into his ear he can’t help but breakdown again, louder and more pathetic than before. 

A grown ass man crying on the floor of his bedroom. 

“Tooru, Tooru what’s wrong?” the voice crackles in his ear.

Oikawa swallows thickly, “ _ Please _ , Nee-chan, I need you.”

* * *

The morning is tense and Iwaizumi and Ushijima fall into damage control without a second thought. Oikawa had been silent the entire evening once he let the three of them into his room--a welcome relief to the two men trying to figure out how they would manage to sleep on a couch together if Oikawa passed out before unlocking the door. They didn’t press or ask anything, and Oikawa offered little but far off glances and shrugs. His fingers clutched tightly at his cell phone.

Because of this, Oikawa had neglected to inform any of them of the impending arrival of new guests. Although, to be fair, Ushijima and Iwaizumi were doing the absolute best to steer clear of their boyfriend less they trigger the meltdown threatening to spill over Oikawa’s eyes at any moment. 

That morning, Ushijima leads Oikawa-san and Kageyama down to the shop for bonsai time while Iwaizumi hangs back in the living room to keep Sakura busy. It buys Oikawa more to hide in his room and gather himself.

He comes out, eventually, looking sore around the eyes and jittery in his feet. “Iwa-chan,” he interrupts, “Where is our spare futon?”

“Uh,” Iwaizumi tries to think, “Shouldn’t it be in the closet?”

“I looked.”

“Try the closet in Kageyama’s room.” Before Oikawa gets very far he calls back, “Wait, what for?”

“Nee-chan’s coming,” Oikawa says simply, “We need more bed space to fit everyone.”

“Fumiko’s coming?” Iwaizumi repeats, “Since when?”

“Since now,” Oikawa says, and it comes off harsher than necessary, eyes flashing to end the discussion. Iwaizumi frowns, would have pushed more if not for the woman sitting in their living trying to sink into their couch. 

Instead, he takes in a breath through his nose and sits back down on the armchair, “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head, giving a smile, “It’s alright, Hideki-kun told me Oikawa-kun can be a bit dramatic sometimes. It must be interesting being roommates for so long!”

Iwaizumi frowns, scratching at a non-itch above his knee, “Right, yeah, well, when you’ve known him for as long as I have you get used to it.” He licks his dry lips, wonders if he should say more, like how Oikawa  _ isn’t  _ as dramatic as his father says, that he’s reasonable and thoughtful and lovely and everything and more. 

But the moment passes. 

Oikawa flutters around them, gathering blankets and rearranging spare pillows. He folds one and rests it against the side of the couch Sakura isn’t on. He fidgets a moment and then decides to sit down and be present, because it isn’t fair of him to make Iwaizumi do his job the entire time. 

He smiles at her, nice and forced, “Sorry, it’s a bit hectic here. My sister is excited to meet you though!”

Sakura sits up with a nod, “Right! I am so glad I can finally meet Fumi-chan! Hideki-kun tells me she’s in consulting? I have always wanted to know more about that world.”

Oikawa grimaces, “I’m sure she’ll be happy to tell you all about it. She’s also bringing my nephew.”

“Oh, how sweet,” she murmurs, “He must be so cute. Your family is blessed in the genes department,” she giggles shyly. 

Oikawa grits his teeth, lips spreading even wider, “Take-chan is very cute.  But he hates it when you call him that, you know how it is when they get to be around that age.”

She giggles again, giving a nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly. 

Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa from the side but decides not to say anything. Let Oikawa make his own mess if he wishes to. 

“When are they coming?” Sakura asks, taking another sip from her wine glass. 

“Soon,” Oikawa says, leaning back a little in his seat, “They’ll be here before dinner for sure.”

The door flings open then, startling the trio into sitting up. Sakura almost spills her wine but manages to save herself. Iwaizumi stands up instinctively, ready. 

It’s only Kageyama. 

“Tobio!” Oikawa snaps, “What did we say about slamming doors?”

“Sorry.” Kageyama says quickly, half heartedly as he rushes into the room, “You need to come down!”

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi asks, moving toward him. 

Kageyama shakes his head, “We’re finished!”

“In a little bit,” Oikawa says. 

Kageyama shakes his head again, “No, you need to see it now! It looks cool and I did the last two branches by myself!”

“Lead the way, bud,” Iwaizumi smiles before flashing a warning look at Oikawa, who grumbles something under his breath before getting up. Sakura takes the cue to stand as well, stepping over to follow them. 

“I think it’s so lovely that Ushijima’s flower shop is right below you!” she speaks up as they walk down, “It’s so nice of him to have you both live here too.”

Oikawa snorts, but the both of them decide not to deal with it. Instead, they all climb down the stairs, in step with Kageyama’s eager feet. He leads them to the back of the shop where Ushijima and Oikawa-san stand around the long metal table. Their aprons are filthy, but sitting in front of them is perfectly pruned Japanese Maple bonsai. 

Silver wiring wraps around the branches tightly, new gaps present where branches had been clipped away. The dirt is covered with green moss, decorative pebbles arranged around the base of the trunk. 

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Sakura says, coming forward, “It’s your best one yet,” she adds coming over to stand beside Oikawa-san and give him a kiss. 

Oikawa turns away less he gag publically. 

“Couldn’t have done it without this guy,” Oikawa-san says, slapping Ushijima’s back amicably, “He’s got the greenest thumbs I’ve ever seen!”

“I helped!” Kageyama reminded raising his hand. 

Ushijima’s lips quirk up as he nods at the boy, “You did. Thank you.”

Kageyama beams, mouth wobbly as he grips the hem of his shirt tightly. Ushijima pulls off one of his thick dirty gloves to pat his head for added measure. 

Their bell rings, interrupting the peace. Ushijima’s brow furrows, “The shop is closed today.”

“Oh, it’s my sister,” Oikawa says, slipping away quickly. 

Oikawa-san stiffens, the hand around his girlfriend’s waist tightening, “Fumiko’s here?”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth as he puts on a smile, cursing Oikawa for putting him here to clean his messes, but what else is new? “Oh, did Oikawa not tell you? She’s coming for New Year’s today.”

Ushijima looks at him sharply, but Iwaizumi meets his gaze. Ushijima purses his lips but drops it, filing it away for something to question later. For now he simply nods, if only to see the tension release from Iwaizumi’s shoulders a tiny bit. 

Oikawa-san pushes his way through to enter the main store after his son, leaving his girlfriend to hesitate awkwardly before ducking her head down and following after him.

Iwaizumi sighs. Ushijima levels him a look as he takes off his apron and kneels down to untie Kageyama’s. Kageyama frowns, glaring at Iwaizumi, “You never said Auntie was coming.”

Iwaizumi nods, “I know, Kageyama. I’m sorry.”

Kageyama huffs, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Is she staying the night?” Ushijima asks, folding the aprons onto the table to wash later. 

Iwaizumi nods slowly, glancing to Kageyama a moment before sending Ushijima a pleading look. Ushijima frowns deeper, eyes squinting as he tries to decipher the looks exact meaning. He’s sure Oikawa would have been able to understand immediately.

He shakes the bitter thought away. 

Iwaizumi seems to think his silence denotes his understanding, and so he turns away, heading over into the main store.

“There’s too many people,” Kageyama mutters, foot stomping on the ground, “Why are more people coming?”

Ushijima pats his head, “If you wish after you say hello you can go hide in your room the rest of the day.”

Kageyama looks up at him, “Oikawa-san will get mad.”

Ushijima smiles, “Do not worry about Oikawa. I will have him be mad at me instead.”

Kageyama purses his lips, looking back down at the ground in thought. 

Ushijima’s hand slides down the back of his head to put pressure on his back, “Come, let’s go greet them and then you can be dismissed.”

They venture out into the open, just past the cash register table of the shop. Oikawa and his sister are holding open the doors, chatting to each other. Oikawa looks overly cheerful. His sister matching his wide grin. Oikawa-san, standing near them, seems to be trying to get a word in edgewise and failing miserably. 

Iwaizumi has his hands full of groceries, which Ushijima darts forward to help alleviate. The both of them head up the stairs to deposit them in their kitchen, calling Kageyama to open up the door for them. The boy is happy for the task, darting up after them. 

Takeru comes through the open doors next, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a suitcase rolling beside him. Oikawa can’t believe the boy’s gotten somehow taller in the few months since he last saw him. He might even be taller than  _ him _ at this point, and he’s now a good head taller than his mother. 

“What are you feeding him?” Oikawa can’t help but hiss out. 

His sister laughs, “Not enough apparently. He’s eating me out of house and home right now.”

Oikawa snorts, letting go of his door so that his sister can do the same. He takes his key out to lock it again. In his distracted state his sister envelopes him in a tight hug. 

“Not now,” he pleads, quiet and insistent, close to her ear.

She squeezes him, “I know.”

She pulls away. 

“Do you need any help?” comes a soft voice.

Takeru has stopped in front of Sakura, as if he hit an invisible wall blocking his path. He reddens, squeezing the strap on his shoulder, “N-no! I’m good. Uh, thank you though, that’s um, that’s really nice of you but I’m good. I’m stronger than I look. I play volleyball. Not that you asked, but uh, it is to say I am stronger than I look. Yeah.”

She giggles into her hand sweetly, “I will take your word for it!”

He grins too. 

Oikawa-san coughs, reminding the rest of them of his presence. 

Takeru blinks, as if broken from a spell, turning his head toward the man, “Oh, sorry. Hi, Oji-san.”

“Oji-san?” Sakura repeats, skin paling on sight. 

Oikawa doesn’t feel bad for the sick pleasure that lights up his face at the sight. He strides forward, smiling sickly sweet and wrapping an arm around Takeru’s shoulder, “Oh, Sakura! Let me introduce you to my sweet nephew, Take-chan!” He presses a soft kiss to the boys cheek for added measure. Takeru rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight his uncle off. 

Sakura’s hands squeeze together, “Oh,  _ this _ is Take-chan.” She swallows, eyes darting toward Oikawa-san who looks unamused. 

“Uncle, let go so I can put the stuff down upstairs,” Takeru complains, oblivious to whatever tension lies in the air. 

Oikawa eases off him, but doesn’t let him go without a comment, “Who taught you how to shave? You’re stubble almost ripped apart my lips.”

The boy reddens, muttering something under his breath before storming up the stairs. 

Fumiko snickers into her hand as she comes forward, “He’s upset because he wanted to spend the day sleeping in his room,” she explains. She nods her head, “Hello, you must be Sakura right? I’m Oikawa Fumiko.”

Sakura bows her own head, “It’s, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Fumiko,” Oikawa-san says, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Fumiko’s smile stretches, “I always spend my New Year’s with Tooru. It’s a given.”

It’s a blatant lie. Oikawa’s new years have always been quiet affairs, and Fumiko has tended to do whatever Takeru has wanted to do for the holiday. But neither of the Oikawa siblings give anything away, and it’s a testament to their own father’s distance that he doesn’t question it. Just merely frowns deeper. 

“Sakura,” Oikawa-san says, “Could you give us a moment?”

The girl seems grateful for the out, nodding her head and squeezing Oikawa-san’s hand before hurrying back up the stairs. 

Fumiko’s smile drops, “I thought Tooru had been exaggerating.”

“I am not here to be double teamed by my own children,” Oikawa-san warns. 

“How can you do this to us?” Fumiko continues, “How can you do this to mom?”

Oikawa-san grits his teeth, “There you go again, taking  _ her _ side, always.”

Fumiko crosses her arms, “How can you justify this? She’s a child! She’s younger than Tooru! It’s disgusting!”

Oikawa-san shakes his head, voice raising along with his shoulders, like an animal trying to appear bigger, “Neither of you have any right to tell me how to live my life and who to be with! Not after everything I had to put up with from the both of you.”

“Put up with?” Oikawa repeats, breathless. 

“Do you not get it?” Oikawa-san seethes, “Any other family would have kicked the both of you out for the shame you’ve brought to us. But I didn’t, and you’ve always been so, so, so ungrateful of everything I’ve ever done for you all. I worked my ass off every day for thirty years to support the three of you, I paid for private lessons, I helped you get through college. What more do you  _ want  _ from me?”

Oikawa feels his hands fist at his sides. 

“You want to go tell your grandson he brought shame on this family by existing then?” Fumiko says, not missing a beat, chin up despite the height difference between them. “Sorry that  _ I _ didn’t want to get trapped in a loveless marriage for thirty years.”

Oikawa-san glares at her fiercely, and Oikawa doesn’t know how his sister can do this, can stand up to him so defiantly and mercilessly, “You have a lot of nerve, Fumiko.”

“Wonder where I got it from,” she snaps, unimpressed. Oikawa-san shakes, like a trembling volcano, moments from erupting. His face is hot with lava, and Oikawa is  _ terrified _ . But his sister simply rolls her eyes, let out a sigh and adds, “Now that we’re all on the same page on where we stand, how about we have a nice civil holiday, hmm?”

Oikawa-san looks like he wants to say more, face contorting, but he just swivels away instead, storming up the stairs and out of sight. Oikawa takes in a deep breath and his sister squeezes his arm.

“Hey,” she murmurs, voice softer, “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot.”

“He’s right, though,” Oikawa pulls his arms back, voice devoid of anything, because there’s not much left for him to give at this point, “Any other family would have kicked me out.”

Fumiko shakes her head, “Iwaizumi’s didn’t,” she reminds, flicking his forehead with her finger, “Ushijima’s didn’t.”

And, Oikawa supposes, she does have a point there. 

“Thanks for coming,” Oikawa murmurs. 

She smiles, “You owe me.”

Oikawa laughs, “I’ll get Takeru an internship for the summer at my office.”

She slaps him on the back, “That’s a good little brother.”

He snorts, stretching his neck a bit to accentuate his large high advantage. She rolls his eyes, shouldering her way past him, to climb up the stairs. He follows after her, smiling at the back of her head and wondering why it is they  _ don’t _ do this every New Years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry nothing really happens in this chapter lol woops
> 
> more fun times to come with the oikawa fam next chapter haha
> 
> i love fumiko sorry
> 
> until next time!!!!


	12. Fondness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally Fumiko would call him dramatic or a wimp, or some other teasing remark. But today she just looks fond, head tilting a little to the side and smile tinging sad.
> 
> Oikawa blinks at her.
> 
> “What?”
> 
> Fumiko looks away, to stare at the buildings across the street, “I envy you, Tooru.”

Iwaizumi is five years old when he first lays eyes on Oikawa. 

It’s a bit chaotic and disorienting. Moving is never a pleasant experience, and especially for a five year old it can be world changing. An entire new home, new neighbors, new school, new friends. It is a daunting task thrust upon him and Iwaizumi is overwhelmed by it all. 

He throws tantrums throughout the long car ride to the new house. He kicks and screeches at the backs of his parent’s seats. He waves his tiny fists around and screams until his face is one purpling shade of red. 

He quiets down when they finally arrive, not out of acceptance but more so from exhaustion. He sits on the floor in the main hallway in protest, glaring as his parents and the movers as they work around him. He lies down, trying to extend his body and get in the way as much as possible to disrupt the process. 

Acceptance seeps into his bones only a few days later, once his room is set up and he has a full night’s rest. But it’s still not giddiness. Just an all encompassing sadness that droops his shoulders and tugs the corners of his mouth fiercely down. An ache residing in his heart, a longing for his old home, his old friends, and being able to visit his grandmother only a few streets down.

His mother shushes him, reminding him of all the new friends he’ll make, of the backyard they now have, of all the changes to be happy for. But Iwaizumi is five years old and the world is suddenly too different for him to cope so fast. 

And then the doorbell rings. 

His mother opens the door, revealing another woman at their doorsteps holding a wrapped basket of fresh fruit. His mother smiles at her, and the pair immediately fall into an excited conversation that Iwaizumi could care less about. 

He is much more interested in what’s behind the stranger. 

The woman is trailed by her two children. A boy, a few inches shorter than Iwaizumi, hugs her leg tightly, brown eyes peeking around her skirt. Iwaizumi can’t see him very well, even when he cranes his neck, so he gives up on it.

Instead his eyes climb up to settle on the third visitor. She’s tall, as tall as her mother, with long brown hair pulled into a high ponytail. The ends flutter in the breeze, turning honey colored in the sunlight. 

Her face is pretty, her lips a shiny cherry pink, and her skirt is short. 

She’s starting high school, and her aura exudes a level of boredness that Iwaizumi can’t help but read as aloof coolness. He stares at her. 

“Oh, it looks like Hajime’s got a little crush,” his mother coos, patting his head. 

Iwaizumi bristles, shoulders hunching up in embarrassment as his face colors. He scowls at his mom because that’s not  _ it. _ Girls are gross. And he was just being curious!

The girl spares him a glance then, looking down at him through her thick mascara and quirking her lips up. It makes Iwaizumi feel smaller than he already is. She snorts, “At least he’s cuter than Tooru.”

The boy, Tooru, jumps out from behind his mother at the comment, the offense so brutal it brings him completely out of his shy shell. He puts his little hands on his hips to glare up at his sister, “No, he’s not!”

The adults giggle into their hands at the cute display, and it only makes the boy jut out his lip further, pouting up a storm. It’s enough to get Iwaizumi to giggle as well, the redness fading from his own face. His chuckles make the boy look at him with a frown and a  _ harrumph _ . 

Before Iwaizumi can get mad at that his mother taps his shoulder, “Why don’t you go show Tooru your action figures?”

Iwaizumi blinks, looking back over at the boy to see he’s dropped the frown in favor of showing open interest. Iwaizumi purses his lips and shrugs, motioning for the boy to follow him up the stairs. Tooru does, excitement building in his little legs and mouth suddenly unbuttoned to spill out a slew of comments. 

Iwaizumi finds it annoying, but having the silence filled is nice, and the boy makes him laugh moren the next few hours than he has in the past two weeks. 

Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime become fast friends as all five year old boys tend to do when blessed with proximity and boundless energy. They walk to their elementary school together, they play in each others backyards, they create magical words to fight monsters in and they stare up at the stars. 

They devour all sorts of nature books together, on bugs and animals and space. As they get older they obsess over the same types of movies to varying degrees. They both fall in love with volleyball at the same time. They’re inseparable. 

Iwaizumi sees all of Oikawa in those years. Growing from shy excited child, to awkward gangly preteen to the heartthrob casanova of their high school class. But he doesn’t only see him grow up, he sees his sister, Fumiko, grow up too. 

Iwaizumi can’t explain his curiosity for Oikawa’s sister. It’s not a crush like their mother’s like to tease them about. It’s more of a fascination, and not of her, but rather, of Oikawa’s relationship with her. 

It’s the one big puzzle he can’t figure out. And as resident Oikawa Tooru expert, his inability to decipher it bothers him to no end. 

At first, it seems as though Oikawa hates his sister. He has no good things to say about her. He attacks her interests, complains of the time she spends in the bathroom and rifles through her things. He takes her makeup and ruins it, using up the pencils to draw all over Hajime’s face whenever he sleeps over. He gossips about the older boys that hang around the house and tattles to his parents whenever he catches her drinking with her friends. 

As they get older the resentment only seems to fester and grow in Oikawa’s heart. Fumiko gets more rebellious each year and the pressure for Oikawa to be better increases in turn. Be a better student, a better athlete, a better son. The words Oikawa uses to describe his sister get nastier and nastier as the bitterness rots his insides. 

Even when Fumiko moves back into their house Oikawa’s disdain only worsens. He complains constantly of the lack of attention he receives now with a new baby in the house. That he has to help out the family after school instead of hanging out with his friend. That the baby screams all the time and cries and is overall a gross entity he is forced to spend time with. 

But Iwaizumi also sees the way Oikawa’s eyes light up whenever he holds his little nephew, or when he talks of him to his other middle school friends. 

And then, something happens in high school that Iwaizumi has never been able to figure out. A flip is switched and suddenly, Oikawa  _ doesn’t _ hate his sister. He still has nothing good to say about her, at least to Iwaizumi and his friends, but it doesn’t stop him from calling her often. Of hanging out with her and Takeru on weekends, of spending the night at her apartment as often as he does at Iwaizumi’s. 

And it’s weird because there’s no reason for it, as far as Iwaizumi can tell.

Iwaizumi has never had a sibling, despite his constant begging for his parents to give him one, and for the life of him he can’t figure them out. No matter how much he wants to. 

Fumiko will always be an enigma for him. An aloof woman who holds a piece of his boyfriend that Iwaizumi will never understand, and never have. 

And it’s hard for him to accept that. 

* * *

Ushijima claps his hands, bowing his head to the shrine in the crisp december weather. It was no longer snowing, but the air was frigid against his skin. Kageyama shivers beside him, but doesn’t complain, bowing to the shrine stiffly.

“What did you pray for, Kageyama?” Ushijima asks, as they step back from the shrine to let other people go. It is incredibly crowded which is to be expected of the holiday. Kageyama sticks close to him, feet tracing small arcs in the patches of snow. He shrugs. 

Oikawa and his sister come toward them when they finish up but they motion to keep walking to a clearer spot where they can hear each other better. 

Kageyama seems grateful for the reprieve, fingers digging into Ushijima’s gloved hand as they walk. He keeps his head down. 

Iwaizumi and Takeru find them soon after, the younger moving to stand by his mother and whisper something in her ear. She swats at him and he feigns hurt, delivering the signature Oikawa Family pout. Ushijima can’t help quirking his lips at the sight. 

Oikawa’s Father and Sakura appear next, standing quite close to each other. Ushijima can feel Kageyama’s restlessness growing now that they’re all together, expecting to leave immediately. 

Fumiko crouches a bit to look at Kageyama’s face, “Tobio, Happy New Year!” she says with a smile, holding out a red envelope she slips out of her pocket. Kageyama blinks, staring at the offering. Ushijima nudges him but the boy doesn’t move. 

“If he doesn’t want the money I’ll take it,” Takeru offers. 

Fumiko sends him a look, “I thought you weren’t a child anymore, Takeru?”

Takeru purses his lips and looks away. 

“He’s shy,” Oikawa reminds gently. 

Iwaizumi takes the envelope from Fumiko instead. Sakura pulls out her own red envelope from her bag, “This is from the both of us as well, Tobio,” she says sweetly to the boy. Kageyama doesn’t look at her, turning his body into Ushijima’s. She doesn’t press, handing the envelope to Iwaizumi instead, “Happy New Year.”

Oikawa-san takes out a second envelope, tapping it on Takeru’s shoulders, “Don’t look so disappointed. You’re a man now aren’t you?”

Fumiko rolls her eyes but Takeru takes the envelope excitedly, bowing his head, “Thank you, Oji-chan!” 

Oikawa-san smiles, patting his head. 

Oikawa claps his hands, “Alright, well, now that the necessities of the holiday have been dealt with, let’s get home before my fingers fall off.”

“I told you to bring your gloves,” Iwaizumi chides, already taking off his own to hand over. Oikawa sneaks a peck on his cheek before slipping them on his reddened hands. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and stuffs his own hands deep into his pockets. 

“Can we go now?” Kageyama asks, feet kicking at the snow beneath him. 

“Yes, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa agrees, leading the charge, “We can go.” 

The shrine is only a short walk from their home, but it seems longer on the way back. Ushijima can feel Kageyama’s tantrum growing in his chest, tightening his grip on his hand. He glances toward Iwaizumi, trying to catch his eyes but the man is busy laughing with Takeru about something the boy has said. Oikawa is too far up chatting with his sister and Ushijima is left in the back, wondering what he can do to prevent the inevitable. 

He slows his steps, creating more distance between himself and the rest of the party. Kageyama looks up at him, frowning more, but Ushijima keeps slowing his pace until they naturally stop. 

“What?” Kageyama asks, furrowing his brows up at him. 

“You are upset,” Ushijima says, looking down at him, “Can you tell me why so I may help you?”

Kageyama scowls, pulling his hand free, “I’m not upset.”

Ushijima shakes his head, “You are lying.”

Kageyama kicks his shin, “No, I’m not!”

“Kageyama,” Ushijima says sternly, hiding his wince, “You do not kick people.”

Kageyama lets out a frustrated noise and kicks at the snow, “I want to go home.”

“Is it because there are so many people in our house?” Ushijima continues. 

Kageyama kicks the snow harder. 

“They will be gone tomorrow. You only need to survive the night.”

“I want to go home,” Kageyama repeats, stomping at the snow to flatten it down. 

Ushijima sighs, taking Kageyama’s hand again and leading him down the sidewalk. He can’t help but wish Iwaizumi was here, or even Oikawa “Master of words” Tooru. He knows he’s done little but aggravate Kageyama more somehow, and he can only hope he doesn’t explode in front of everyone. 

When they climb up the stairs, the majority of the group is gathered in the living room, except for Takeru, who is digging into the leftovers from dinner at the kitchen island. Iwaizumi is playing peacekeeper in the between Fumiko and her father. Ushijima feels the need to help, but nudges Kageyama first, “You can go to your room for the rest of your night if you wish.”

But Kageyama can’t, in fact, go to his room, because mere seconds after Ushijima closes his mouth Oikawa comes out from the hallway, “Okay, Nee-chan you can put your stuff down in Tobio’s room.”

Which Ushijima should have expected. He locks eyes with Iwaizumi, who has already gotten up, at the realization of what is about to come. The look they share is obvious: they’re at a loss for what to do. 

Kageyama explodes. 

“It’s  _ my _ room,” Kageyama snaps, hot and angry, hands fisting at his sides. 

“Nee-chan’s sleeping there for the night,” Oikawa says calmly. 

Kageyama shakes his head furiously, “No!”

“Tobio--”

“No!” he screeches again, stomping a foot down. 

Takeru looks up from his leftovers, eyes a bit wide. His eyes search for his mom’s, but she’s too busy frowning at Kageyama to look at him. 

Iwaizumi starts moving toward Kageyama, but Kageyama sees it from the corner of his eyes  and swings his arm wide read to hit him away, “No!” he screams again, face getting redder with every shout passing his lips. 

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi tries slowly, when he regains the breath knocked out of him from the hit.

Kageyama knocks over one of the island chairs instead, aiming it at Iwaizumi’s feet. The man steps back quickly. Kageyama jumps at the loud noise the chair makes when it clatters to the ground. 

“Holy shit,” Takeru hisses, getting up and away from the kitchen island, taking his plate with him. 

“Kageyama!” Iwaizumi says again, louder. 

Kageyama has tears clouding his vision, and he starts kicking at the fallen chair, letting out angry noise after angry noise until, finally, Ushijima has enough. 

He steps over, reaching his arms out, unafraid of the angry flailing arms and manages to pick the boy up from the ground. He shudders in his grasp and then goes limp with resignation. Ushijima carries him away and locks them both up in the bathroom out of sight. 

The silence after the tantrum is deafening. Iwaizumi leans down to pick the chair back up, slipping it back into place. He rubs at his gut with a frown. Oikawa claps his hands to defuse the situation, “Well, anyway, as I was saying, Nee-chan you can put your stuff in the room now. I changed the sheets.”

Fumiko looks as though she wants to say something but she decides against it, standing up and motioning for Takeru to help her grab their bags. He doesn’t make a snide remark for once, putting his plate down and hurrying to aid his mother. Oikawa follows after them and Iwaizumi is left to deal with the consequences. 

As usual. 

He takes a second before he returns to the armchair, sitting down and giving the pair on the couch a forced smile. 

“Sorry about that,” Iwaizumi says quickly, “Kageyama is still learning how to control his anger.”

Sakura forces on her own polite smile in turn, fiddling with the hem of her dress laying across her pale knees. Oikawa-san scratches at the stubble on his cheek, “Is he a recent orphan? Or has he been in the system for a long while?”

“His mother passed away about a year ago or so,” Iwaizumi supplies. 

“Poor thing,” Sakura murmurs. 

“It’s a tragic thing,” Oikawa-san agrees, “A boy needs a stable home life to grow up well.”

“It’s amazing that you all have teamed up to help him,” Sakura agrees with a nod, “It’s a huge responsibility you’ve taken.”

Oikawa-san hums with a little nod, “Any luck finding new parents for him yet?”

Iwaizumi stiffens, “Huh?”

“You’re fostering, right?” Oikawa-san continues, sitting up a little and pulling his hand back from around Sakura’s shoulders to clasp them together, “Until you can find proper parents for him?” he licks his lips, frowning at how tense Iwaizumi had become, “I mean, I thought that’s what Tooru told me? That it was temporary.”

Iwaizumi swallows, scratching the back of his neck, “No, you’re right,” he replies quietly, as his gut sinks, worse than any kind of damage Kageyama’s little fists could do. “We’re still adjusting, so we haven’t really focused on that part, uh, yet.” He bites his lip, an image of Matsukawa and Hanamaki flashing in his mind, “Though there has been interest, in him, for sure.”

“Oh well that’s good,” Oikawa-san nods, “It’s good you’re giving him time. He clearly needs it. Let me know if you ever need help with anything, I’ve run the gambit three times now,” he laughs. 

Iwaizumi nods slowly, his hands digging into his knees. 

He’s not sure Oikawa-san would consider Matsukawa and Hanamaki  _ proper _ parents, but Iwaizumi would. Yet the thought of giving Kageyama away still squeezes his heart painfully at t

But that’s selfish of him isn’t it?

Selfish of him to force Ushijima and Oikawa to upheave their lives for his dumb selfish dream of being father. Selfish. He can’t help thinking over Ushijima’s words from weeks ago,  _ Oikawa gives you everything _ .  _ Everything that’s ever actually mattered. _

He lets out a breath, looking up when the rest of the Oikawa clan return to the main room. Oikawa takes the lead, waving at his father and his girlfriend, “I need to make the couch for Take-chan.”

Oikawa-san gets up with an exaggerated groan that Oikawa rolls his eyes at. He removes the cushions and lays down a sheet, tucking it into the inner crevices of the couch. He adds a thick duvet on top and fluffs up a pillow to lay by the arm rest. 

“Is Ushijima and co. gonna come back out? It’s almost time,” Oikawa-san warns, sitting back down on the arm chair. Sakura perches herself on the arm rest next to him. Takeru takes a seat on his couch, favoring the side closest to the girl and giving her a smile. She returns it, but keeps her gaze down.

“I’ll check on them,” Iwaizumi murmurs, grabbing on the chance to split off from the group. 

He knocks on the bathroom door and hears a soft  _ come in  _ from his boyfriend. He opens the door to find Ushijima sitting on the toilet seat, resting his head in his hands. 

“Where’s Kageyama?” Iwaizumi asks. 

Ushijima responds by tugging the shower curtain back, revealing a curled up Kageyama sitting in the tub with his head down. Iwaizumi frowns.

“Hey, Kageyama,” he greets, stepping closer in order to sit on the edge of the tub across from the boy. He keeps his voice soft.

“I hate you,” Kageyama says, mostly into his knees, “All of you. You’re all shitty dumbasses.”

“Kage--”

“I hate you. I hate you. Dumbasses. I want my room. I want to be in my room,” he sniffles, face wet with tears and snot and misery, “I dont want to go back outside. I  _ hate _ you!”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi hisses, breaking through the tirade eventually, “We would never have you sleep outside. Why would you say that?”

Kageyama stares at his knees, fingers digging crescents into the skin and Iwaizumi worries that he might start bleeding if he doesn’t stop. But he doesn’t want to touch him because it might make it worse. He licks his lips, starting again, “You’re not sleeping outside. It’s for one night, and you’ll be on a futon in Oikawa’s room with all of us. It’s just for one night and then you’ll be back in your room. Like a sleepover.” 

Kageyama glances up at him, eyebrows drawing down further. He nibbles at his lip. He lifts one hand wipe at his eyes, and Iwaizumi takes it as a good sign. A sign that Kageyama is ready to move on.

Ushijima sits up a little, “We apologize we did not give you a proper warning. Fumiko’s visit was very last minute.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nods, “That’s our fault. We’re sorry.”

“Good,” Kageyama snaps, crossing his arms.

Iwaizumi snorts silently, taking in a breath, “You’re tired right? How about you just turn in now?”

Kageyama purses his lips, staring down at his knees a moment before getting up. Iwaizumi nods at Ushijima to relieve him of his post, pulling out Kageyama’s toothbrush and getting him set up. 

“Five minutes until midnight,” Ushijima reminds as he steps out. Iwaizumi gives another nod, before shooing the man away to rejoin the group. 

Ushijima finds the Oikawas heading to their little balcony. He moves to join them, putting a hand on the small of Oikawa’s back to alert him of his presence. 

Oikawa looks up at him and gives him a small smile before leaning against the railing. Most of the plants had been cleared from the balcony because of the snow, leaving enough space for the group to huddle close together. Takeru leans over the edge until his mother snaps at him to be careful. 

“What’s the clock say?” he asks impatiently. 

“Another minute,” Oikawa-san replies, holding out his phone for the teen to see the timer. 

“Are they coming?” Oikawa whispers into Ushijima’s ear. 

“Iwaizumi will,” Ushijima responds, tugging Oikawa a bit closer when he sees him shiver in the wind. 

“He better hurry,” Oikawa grumbles, leaning against him and crossing his arms to keep his hands under his armpits. Fumiko yawns into her mouth, creating a cascading effect on the party. 

With only thirty seconds to spare Iwaizumi manages to get onto the balcony between Oikawa and Ushijima. Sakura leads the chant when the timer hits ten, and everyone joins in soon after. At zero the first firework explodes in the distance, giving off a dazzling display of bright colors. 

Oikawa-san and Sakura share a kiss in that moment. Fumiko manages to sneak a kiss to her son’s cheek. Iwaizumi pulls his two boyfriends down to his face by the collar of their shirts, pecking both their cheeks while they alternate with him. 

Oikawa turns to his sister, pressing a kiss to her cheek and a giving a quiet “Happy New Year.” She gives it in turn before moving on to kiss Iwaizumi, and even Ushijima to his warm surprise. Oikawa attacks Takeru next, much to the boys chagrin, and then he shoves him into Iwaizumi’s arms to be passed to his other uncle soon after. 

Oikawa looks over at his father, who smiles at him despite it all, and it’s a bit sad, but it’s also familiar, and Oikawa sinks into the hug he receives. His father’s grip on him is tight, fingers digging into the back of his coat, desperate to sink in and connect “I love you.”

“I know,” Oikawa murmurs, shoulders drooping, “I know.” He presses a quick kiss to his father’s cheek before pulling away, “Happy New Year, Dad.”

His father smiles again, patting his shoulder before turning to his daughter. 

Oikawa takes in a breath and smiles at Sakura, shaking her hand and exchanging the same formalities. 

They stay on the balcony a little while longer to watch the ongoing fireworks, but the cold proves to be too much for them. They make their way back into the living room and soon they all start disappearing into their rooms for the night. Oikawa double checks his nephew has everything he needs in the living room one last time before nodding to his boyfriends to head back to their room. 

“You think we can get away with having some fun while he’s on the floor?” Oikawa murmurs before opening the door. 

Iwaizumi slaps his back, “Don’t be nasty.”

Oikawa giggles, hunching his shoulders up a little as he opens the door. He flicks the light on, figuring Kageyama is most likely still awake. 

Once the room illuminates he can’t help but frown, pausing in the doorway. 

Kageyama has destroyed his futon. Dragging the blanket with him into a corner of the room, far from the window. He’s cocooned himself within it, and he is  _ shaking _ . 

Iwaizumi moves faster than the rest of them, hurrying to the boy’s side, “Kageyama, what’s wrong?”

Kageyama stares up at him, “I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he pleads, “So make it  _ stop _ !”

Oikawa glances at the window, “Fuck,” he hisses, quiet enough that only Ushijima really catches him say it. He strides over to the cowering boy, “Tobio-chan, it’s just fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” Iwaizumi repeats, and as he speaks another series of explosions light up the sky, miles away but loud enough to make the poor boy jump. 

“Make it stop!” Kageyama shouts again, kicking his feet out.

Ushijima draws the curtains over the window even though he knows it will do nothing to stop the sound from entering. It’s all he can think to do.

“Tobio,” Oikawa says slowly, lifting a hand to smooth away the boy’s bangs from his sweaty face, “We can’t stop them. They’re very far away. I know it’s loud but they will stop soon. They can’t hurt you.”

Another series of sparks fly up into the sky, making the boy startle again, fingers digging into Oikawa’s arm instinctively. 

Oikawa sighs, leaning forward to slip his arms around the boy and lift him up. He groans and Iwaizumi readies himself to catch them if he needs to. Luckily, Oikawa is only lifting the boy onto the nearby bed, sitting him up against the pillows stacked on the headrest. He then climbs up to sit beside him. 

Kageyama stares at him. 

Oikawa ignores the look, “We’ll stay awake with you until it stops, then, alright?”

Iwaizumi can’t hide his fond smile as he climbs up into the bed as well, sitting cross legged by Kageyama’s stretched out legs. Ushijima comes to sit on the other side of the boy. Kageyama keeps his grip tight on his duvet, eyes downcast. He flinches again when another sound booms and crackles against their window. 

“Kageyama, would you like to hear a story?” Ushijima asks him, on a whim, “I can recount one my mother used to tell me when I was little, of my great grandfather.”

Kageyama blinks at him, sitting up and nodding. Ushijima’s voice is deep and soothing, caressing the three of them in the low level light. What Ushijima lacks in natural dramatics he makes up for in memorization, using the same words and techniques his mother had throughout his childhood. It weaves a gripping tale of swords and violence, of love and care, of right and wrong. 

Kageyama sits up the entire time, immersed in the story, picking at his blankets, interrupting here and there. Oikawa sinks back into his pillows, but his hand plays with Kageyama’s hair, equally as fidgety. Iwaizumi loves the picture it paints, and it dulls the old ache in his heart. 

The fireworks quiet down over time, and Kageyama’s shoulders relax. Once Ushijima finishes off his story, it is deep into the night and the silence has returned to the world around them. 

“I need to sleep,” Oikawa huffs, then, sinking lower and throwing an arm over his eyes. 

Iwaizumi sighs, “We know grumpy,” he soothes, patting his leg. 

Oikawa lifts his head slightly to raise an eyebrow at him, “You’re calling  _ me _ , grumpy?”

Ushijima must be tired because he doesn’t hide his laugh at the comment, leaning back on the headrest himself. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but makes no move to cover his smile. Instead, he pulls at one of Oikawa’s toes to make him jump before slipping off the bed entirely. He motions for Kageyama to follow him to re-setup his futon and tuck him in. He flicks off the light, then joins his partners in their bed. 

After exchanging good nights it doesn’t take long for the adults to realize Kageyama has gotten out of his futon again. A quick look down in the dark gives them the shadowy silhouette of a boy peering up at the foot of their bed. 

Oikawa lets out an exaggerated groan, kicking out his foot, “ _ Fine _ ,” he hisses, scooching a bit to the side to make room between himself and Ushijima, “Don’t be a damn gremlin. Just hurry up and sleep.”

Kageyama bites his lip but scurries onto the bed after he sees Oikawa give another annoyed kick, settling himself between the two adults. He takes care to not touch them, sitting straight as a board, but enjoying the warmth he suddenly feels wrapped in. 

It doesn’t take long for any of them to fall into a deep and restful sleep. 

* * *

Ushijima doesn’t want to disturb them when he awakens, taking in the domestic scene with a soft sleepy smile. Kageyama had turned on his side at some point in the night, curving to fit against Ushijima’s. Oikawa has his arm around Kageyama’s neck, hand resting against the back of his head, letting the boy snuggle up close to his chest. Oikawa’s feet are tangled with Iwaizumi’s behind, who’s still snoring quietly to himself.

It pains Ushijima to do so, but after returning from the kitchen to see Oikawa’s father already up and packed, he knows he has to at least get Oikawa to venture out of the comfy bed. 

He nudges him carefully, whispering his name as he pokes at his hair and cheek. Oikawa’s nose scrunches and finally he blinks his eyes open with a drowsy grunt. 

“Your father’s leaving,” Ushijima murmurs. 

Oikawa squints at him before his mind is able to understand the statement. Than he nods, slowly, carefully, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Ushijima helps him maneuver out of the bed, somehow able to leave Iwaizumi and Kageyama in their dormant state. 

Fumiko is awake as well, making tea for everyone. They sit around the island, being mindful not to be too loud with Takeru sleeping soundly only a few feet away. 

“Sorry we have to leave so soon,” Sakura apologizes, “I have work in the morning and it’s a long car ride.”

Oikawa waves her off, voice deeper than normal, “Thank you for coming.”

Oikawa’s father slaps his shoulder, resting a hand a moment to squeeze it tightly. Oikawa looks over at him and then turns away with a sigh, “Ushijima and I will help you load the car.” 

Before long the pair are off on the road, and Oikawa can spend the rest of the morning in peace, helping his sister cook a large breakfast for the rest of them. Takeru is forced to get up by his mother and help, while Ushijima goes about watering the plants in the apartment and down in the store. 

Eventually, Iwaizumi and Kageyama step out of the bedroom and join the rest of the family. Oikawa sends Kageyama to work setting the table and grabbing the extra chairs. Takeru helps carry the food between the kitchen and the table until everything is ready. Once all are seated the feast can finally begin, and it becomes incredibly obvious how hungry the entire group is. 

Kageyama and Takeru put the adults to shame with the amount of pancakes they are able to shove into their mouths. Oikawa finds it appalling but Fumiko seems unfazed, and Iwaizumi almost proud at the sight. 

Ushijima and Iwaizumi offer to do the dishes once everyone has had their fill. The pair start gathering the plates from the table, while the other four sink into their chairs, satiated. 

“Takeru,” Fumiko speaks up looking over at her son. He puts his cellphone down and looks up at her, “Why don’t you go to the park with Tobio?”

“What?” Takeru responds instinctively, glancing over at the boy staring blankly at the table, “Why?’

Fumiko rolls her eyes, “Why? Because you’ve been lazing around all week and should go outside.”

Takeru frowns, “I’m on vacation.” He picks up his phone again, sliding it open, “Plus, it’s cold outside.”

“You know, Tobio’s interested in volleyball, why not go teach him some things at the park! Get your blood pumping.”

Kageyama looks up at the word  _ volleyball _ , suddenly interested in the conversation. There’s a gleam in his blue eyes present for the first time since the guests had appeared within his vicinity.

Takeru grimaces, “Mom, I don’t wanna,” he insists. 

Fumiko narrows her eyes, as if to ask  _ why not _ ? Her son looks away from the gaze, eyes darting toward Kageyama and then frowning even deeper. 

Fumiko’s eyes flash, “Takeru, he’s your new cousin. Go spend time with him.”

Takeru groans, sinking lower in his chair before getting up all the same, “Fine! Whatever,” he looks over at Kageyama with a bored expression, “Come on, let’s be quick about this.”

Kageyama hops off his chair to go scurry away to his bedroom, in search of street clothes, his sneakers and his favorite volleyball. Once he’s out of earshot Takeru levels his mother a glare, “What if he attacks me?”

Fumiko glares at him just as fiercely, “He’s a kid, Takeru and half your size. Be nice to him.”

“He’s weird,” Takeru grumbles. 

“He’s your cousin and you’ll be nice to him,” Fumiko snaps, “Now go.”

Takeru rolls his eyes but slinks off all the same, to get dressed for the day himself. Ushijima helps Kageyama find everything he needs in his growing excitement, and soon the young pair are off and out of the apartment. 

Oikawa isn’t sure how he and his sister end up on the balcony, but eventually they split off and make their way over into the chilly breeze. Oikawa rests both his arms on the railing, leaning over it to pillow his head. His sister leans beside him, the small of her back against the metal. They’re mostly quiet, letting the sounds of the small city fill the gaps, until the flick of a lighter makes Oikawa look over. 

He straightens up a little at the sight of his sister cupping her hands around a lighter to illuminate the end of the cigarette perched against her mouth. He frowns, “I thought you quit.”

“I did,” Fumiko answers with a shrug, grabbing the cig with two finger to blow some smoke out.

Oikawa traces shapes on the banister of the balcony. 

“What’d you think of her?” Fumiko asks, looking over. 

Oikawa lets out a long sigh, “Dad seemed happy.” He licks his lip, eyes flicking back over to her, “Are you alright?”

Fumiko shrugs, “Are any of us?” she lets out a half laugh before thinking better of it, letting her shoulders drop a little, “I guess, it’s just, it’s settling in that Take-chan’s moving out soon.” She swallows, twirling the cigarette between her fingers, “He’s my whole world.”

Oikawa looks out on the empty street, “He’s not going to be far,” he reminds, “And I’m sure he’s not going to want to do his laundry ever, so you’ll see him plenty.”

Fumiko laughs, sincerely this time, rubbing the cigarette out on the metal, “What am I going to do with that boy.”

Oikawa chuckles to himself, “And it’s not like you’ll have an empty nest if Mom really is moving in.”

Fumiko rolls her eyes, but her smile sticks to her face, “Great, I’m so excited for it.”

Oikawa giggles and Fumiko brings her arm up to smack him lightly. Her brother lets out a dramatic whine, covering the spot like a mortal wound. 

Normally Fumiko would call him dramatic or a wimp, or some other teasing remark. But today she just looks fond, head tilting a little to the side and smile tinging sad. 

Oikawa blinks at her. 

“What?”

Fumiko looks away, to stare at the buildings across the street, “I envy you, Tooru.” She ignores the confused look he sends her, keeping her gaze distant and thoughtful, “No one in the family has managed to keep a single relationship afloat and here you are handling two easily.”

Oikawa blinks, looking over at his boyfriends through the window, finding them both lounging on the couch with their laptops, “I don’t know if I’d call it  _ easy _ .”

She slaps his shoulder, “You know what I mean. They adore you.”

Oikawa hums, tugging at his bangs.  

“I’m cold,” Fumiko decides then, sensing his anxious tick, “Let’s go back in.”

* * *

The boys return later than expected, right at the edge of dinner. Late enough that even Fumiko begins to worry, but not so late that Oikawa is able to convince Iwaizumi to go patrol for them. When they burst in through the door, Kageyama is still in high spirits, tossing the ball in the air and catching it as he goes excitedly to his room. Takeru is quiet, slipping into one of the empty chairs at the counter and letting his sweaty head rest against the cold marble. 

“Go shower,” Iwaizumi says, tapping his shoulder, “You stink.”

Takeru reddens, sitting up and bringing his arms down to his sides, “After dinner.”

“We’re not ready yet,” Fumiko says, “Go.”

Takeru groans but gets up, slinking over to the bathroom with less sass than usual, and Oikawa doesn’t miss the way the boy seems to be thinking hard. Pensive about something or another. 

Kageyama comes back to the room, giving the kitchen a wide berth and hopping onto the couch. Ushijima glances away from the TV to look at him, “Did you have fun, Kageyama?”

Kageyama nods, eyes shining up at him, “Takeru-san is a lot better than my teammates. His spikes are really powerful.”

“It’s my blood,” Oikawa calls from the kitchen, drying off his hands with the small towel by the sink.

“It’s my training,” Iwaizumi counters, miming the spike motion with his arms, letting his biceps flex under his short sleeves. 

“Don’t do that,” Oikawa chides, snapping the towel at him, “Not in public.”

“We’re in our house.”

“Am I not allowed to flex either?” Ushijima asks, pulling his arm back in it’s own flexing motion with a raised eyebrow. 

Oikawa squirms, “Such lewd behavior in front of a child. You all should be ashamed.”

Iwaizumi laughs, snatching the towel from him to smack his ass with it, “You got a lot of nerve, Pretty Boy.” Oikawa lets out a squawk but it quickly devolves into giggles hidden behind the demure palm of his hands, especially as Iwaizumi gives him a few more swats for good measure.

“Mom,” Takeru says, returning from his quick shower with his hair still dripping onto his shoulders, “Are they being gross?”

“Yes,” Fumiko replies, “Dry your hair, right.”

“It’s fine,” Takeru waves off, plopping down at the island. 

Ushijima nudges Kageyama off the couch, “Go clean up too,” he orders, and Kageyama obeys easily, a skip in his step as he hurries off into the vacant bathroom. Takeru watches him go, biting the inside of his cheek. Oikawa catches the thoughtful look, leaning an elbow on the counter to peer at his nephew. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks, pretending to find the pattern of the marble beneath him more interesting. 

Takeru keeps his gaze on the closed bathroom door, “You didn’t tell me he was good.”

“Hmm?” Oikawa blinks. 

Takeru turns his head to level Oikawa a look, eyebrows furrowed, “He’s like,  _ really _ good, Uncle. Really good. I don’t, I don’t remember being that good when I was little.”

Oikawa squints, “He only started playing a few weeks ago.”

Takeru shakes his head, “That’s insane. He set the ball to my hands exactly, almost every time. It was, it was so weird. How old is he again?”

“Twelve,” Iwaizumi answers. 

“Enough sports talk,” Fumiko interrupts, shoeing the boys out of the kitchen, “Go set the table so we can finally eat.”

Dinner is nicer than it has been. Oikawa and Fumiko keep the conversation boisterous and fun, Iwaizumi offering quips and embarassing memories. Even Ushijima is able to offer some stories here and there. Kageyama’s legs swing under the table as he devours his meal, interjecting his own opinions whenever he sees fit, and veering the conversation to his new favorite sport as much as he can. 

Takeru is quiet, and even though he tries to hide it, Oikawa catches him stealing glances at Kageyama. Oikawa knows the look, has seen it in the mirror countless times. It’s his own face when he’s trying to solve a pesky puzzle. 

Once dinner’s over goodbye’s start spilling from lips. Oikawa is surprised by how disappointed he is to see his sister and nephew go, how desperately he needed this visit to feel more whole. His sister hugs him tightly, and he likes to think she feels the same. 

Takeru loads their bags down with Ushijima’s help, letting his mom linger as she’s want to do. But she knows she has work the next day and they need to get on the road sooner than later. 

Still, Takeru’s patience wears thin by the twenty minute mark. “Mom!” he calls from the door.

“I know, I know,” Fumiko sighs. She smiles at her brother, patting his cheek. She lets her hands glide through the air to rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and squeezes it, “Bye Hajime, you know where to reach me when you come to your senses.” She gives a playful wink. 

Iwaizumi laughs, patting the hand on his shoulder fondly. She smiles at Ushijima, giving him a wave that he returns. She pinches Kageyama’s cheeks, earning her hand a harsh slap as he pulls away. She laughs it off and finally the pair descend down the stairs and out of sight.

Oikawa doesn’t want to be sad, so he gets annoyed instead, pouting at Iwaizumi and flicking his shoulder, “I hate it when she does that.”

“Does what?” Iwaizumi asks, catching his fingers in his hand and squeezing them. 

Oikawa wrenches them back, “How she always tries to steal you away from me.”

Iwaizumi lets out a bark of a laugh, smiling up at Oikawa, his green eyes fond, “You know, she threatened to kill me when you first told her about us. She even listed all the ways I would be brutally murdered if I broke your heart.”

Oikawa snorts, hoping it hides the flush running up his cheeks. 

“She threatened to murder me if I hurt _ either _ of you,” Ushijima confesses, “She was very graphic about that as well.”

“She’s crazy,” Oikawa mutters, shaking his head.

“Must run in the family then,” Iwaizumi muses, ignoring the playful smack Oikawa delivers the back of his head. It’s well worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more family bonding
> 
> enjoyyyyyyyyyyyy
> 
> until next time!


	13. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (But Oikawa also sees, with his critical eyes, the way Kageyama grips the ends of his jersey, as if imprisoning his hands to stay at his sides. How he locks his knees straight and does not move as he screams. And he thinks, _he’s trying, he really is, in his own way_.)

Oikawa startles awake, sitting up in his chair and squinting at the bright lights above him. Yahaba appears in his view rolling his eyes and swatting him again with his file. Oikawa is too groggy to retaliate properly, instead pulling away and wiping the drool at the edge of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Yahaba leans against the desk, lifting an eyebrow, “We  _ just _ got back from vacation, how are you this tired?”

Oikawa cracks his neck, “I didn’t sleep much--”

“Gross,” Yahaba interrupts flatly, “I don’t want to know.”

Oikawa glares at him, “Because we marathoned all the Star Wars movies in the past two days.”

Yahaba blinks at him, taking a seat across from him, “Why would you do that?”

“Why  _ wouldn’t _ you do that?” Oikawa counters, before adding, “Tobio-chan had never seen them.”

Yahaba doesn’t seem impressed as he leans back in his chair. “How’s your new son by the way?” he asks, opening up the file. 

Oikawa snorts, “He’s not my son,” he reminds, tugging the file so it slides closer to him, “And that’s a  _ fact _ after yesterday. He barely paid attention to the plot and talked during all the good parts. The gremlin has no concept. Can’t read the atmosphere  _ ever _ .”

Yahaba hums with a little shake of his head before hunching his shoulders up, “It’s funny we’re on this, actually, because I have some updates about your mystery boy.”

“Oh?” Oikawa asks, eyes lighting up and looking away from the file, “Do tell.”

Yahaba leans back a little to fish out his phone from his pocket, swiping across the screen, “Hinata’s the family name. Father passed away a few years ago leaving a single mom. Had to downsize.”

“Explains the move,” Oikawa nods, tapping his fingers against the edge of his desk. 

“Two kids in the house. Haven’t gotten first names just yet. One of them has to be your son’s bestie.”

  
Oikawa decides to let the comment slide, “And where are they now?”

Yahaba shakes his head, “I got this from digging through lease records. Haven’t had time to just search now that we have a name, I have actual work to do too you know.”

Oikawa holds back a comment about Yahaba’s work mostly pertaining to annoying the gruff police man who visits every day, and instead continues, “Is that the husband’s name or hers? She might change it depending.”

Yahaba shrugs, “I don’t know. I doubt she’d change the kids’ names though.”

“I’ll start looking through school records,” Oikawa decides, sliding the file away from him completely to make room for his laptop. 

“Oikawa,” Yahaba starts, frowning at the file back in front of him, “Isn’t this a bit much? Just to find some old childhood friend?”

Oikawa waves him off, dismissing him from his office. Yahaba lingers a moment in case, but when he’s met with just silence he sighs and steps out, taking the file with him, defeated. 

Oikawa waits until he knows Yahaba has left him completely to slump in his chair again. He twirls his pen in his hands, waiting for his computer to wake up and function. He thinks about childhood friends and their importance. He thinks about Kageyama and his inability to parse even the most basic of social cues. He thinks about Kageyama and having to explain to him every scene in the movies they watched. Every change in expression, every character shift, even though the boy was doing his best to try to follow it all himself. He thinks about Kageyama, and he thinks about Ushijima, and he thinks about Iwaizumi.

He thinks about Kageyama and he lets out a long suffering sigh. 

He thinks about Takeru then, tries to remember what he was like at Kageyama’s age, but it’s a non starter. Takeru was outgoing, excited and chatty, eager to please and be in the limelight. Takeru also had a mother who would do anything and everything for his happiness, and an uncle who liked to think he’d do the same. It’s not a fair comparison to make. Not at all.

He thinks about Takeru and his words, his sudden intrigue in Kageyama at the end of the break. He pulls his phone out to shoot him a text.

_ Why are you interested in Tobio-chan? _

The response is immediate. 

_ have u seen him play? _

Oikawa licks his lips, frowning. No, no he had not. Not outside of just seeing him pass the ball around with his boyfriends. Not in a real game with a real team. Not even in practices. He clicks his pen repetitively, anxiously, and looks at his watch. 

He makes a decision. 

But before he leaves his office, he shoots his nephew one last text. 

_ Shouldn’t you be in class, Take-chan? _

He smiles at the response he recieves as he grabs his coat from the rack. 

_ history is boring uncle _

_ shouldnt u be at work? _

* * *

Ushijima nods at Oikawa as he jogs up to him. Oikawa closes the distance, stepping up on his toes to press a kiss against Ushijima’s lips, “Hey, handsome.”

Ushijima squints at him.

Oikawa smiles, letting out a giggle, “God, you’re so cute.”

“Why did you want to meet here?” Ushijima asks, pulling his hands free from his pockets to wrap one around Oikawa’s arm. 

Oikawa leans into him, enjoying the shield he provides from the chilly winter wind. He hums, nudging Ushijima to enter through the school gates and up the steps. Ushijima lets himself be guided, used to his questions being ignored. 

They enter the school and after checking in at the front desk with a smile and bow they venture down the hallways. It takes a moment, but they eventually find what they’re looking for. The sound of harsh thuds and shouts, of squeaking sneakers and wayward balls guides them in front of the gymnasium doors.

“Did Kageyama do something?” Ushijima asks, quietly. 

Oikawa shakes his head, turning his face to peck Ushijima’s shoulder before releasing him entirely, “Just wanted to see him play a little, is all.”

Ushijima holds the door open for Oikawa to step through, following after him as he takes a quick seat on the bleachers. Their presence disrupts little, with the young boys too focused on their practice to pay them any mind. The coach catches them however, whispering something to her assistant before climbing up the bleachers, herself. 

“Do you need anything?” she asks, pausing in front of them. 

Oikawa shakes his head with a smile, “We’re Tobio-chan’s guardians. We just wanted to see him in action.”

She blinks, giving the pair a quick glance before letting her eyes wander back toward practice, “He’s incredibly talented.”

“So we’ve heard,” Oikawa agrees, resting his chin in his hand.  

“Needs to work on his teamwork,” the coach continues, “But that’s par for the course with middle school boys.”

Oikawa forces out a chuckle, as if agreeing that Kageyama’s attitude is just normal teenage angst rather than the consequences of years of neglect and abuse. He’s not sure if providing that information would be better for Kageyama or worse. He decides to wait, having just met the woman.  

“I was planning to have a practice match in a few minutes,” she adds, checking her watch, “If you want to stick around and see him in a real game?”

“We would love to,” Oikawa answers, “Just pretend we aren’t here.”

She smiles and lets them be, returning to her post down on the gym floor. Ushijima nudges Oikawa’s shoulder with his own, regaining his attention, “I do not believe Kageyama will appreciate our presence here without warning.”

“I doubt he’ll ever think to look up and notice us if we don’t make it obvious,” Oikawa counters, “Aren’t you even a bit curious?”

“Of course, I am curious,” Ushijima snaps, crossing his arms over his chest, “I just do not revel in spying and dishonesty as much as you do.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but any retort dies on his lips when Koto’s whistle screeches through the air, and the boys hurry to huddle around her. Kageyama is the first to reach her, eyes eager and limbs trembling with energy. But he is also the first to step back, keeping to himself and making sure the boys crowding around her don’t bump into him in anyway. He admires Kageyama’s ability to recognize his own triggers in that moment, to take charge in making sure he doesn’t explode. 

Perhaps he does not give the boy enough credit. 

Kageyama is given a red jersey and sent to the right side of the court along with five other teammates. Oikawa sits up, watching as the boy gets into position in the front center. The eager expression has evaporated, leaving behind stern concentration and a severe frown. Oikawa finds it oddly cute: such an angry face for a young child. 

The game begins. 

And Kageyama is  _ good _ .

More than good. He is  _ amazing _ .

Oikawa finds himself at the edge of his seat, peering down as Kageyama manages to find the ball and set it exactly where he wants almost every time. Like magic the ball appears at the exact zenith of the spiker’s arc. And like magic it confounds his teammates who are surprised and awkward, stuttering to deliver the powerful spikes Kageyama is setting to them. 

Other times the sets are much too fast, the ball already blowing across sideways before the spikers are able to touch them. Sometimes the sets go where no spiker is, landing dully on the court in the middle of a stunned team. 

(Though, Oikawa thinks, as a setter himself, those plays would have been incredibly successful had there been a spiker with the same idea as Kageyama, rushing to that open spot on the court.)

But there is a disconnect between spiker and setter, between Kageyama and his team, a separation that grows starker as the game drags on. The other team makes less mistakes and gets more points, and Kageyama’s frustration festers. 

Oikawa can sense it coming, just as much as Ushijima can with the way his fists tighten at his sides, and his legs tense ready to spring up. It is no surprise, to them at least, when Kageyama does explode, screeching at a teammate for not being fast enough when the ball zooms by him. Face red and screwed up, body trembling. 

_ ( _ But Oikawa also sees, with his critical eyes, the way Kageyama grips the ends of his jersey, as if imprisoning his hands to stay at his sides. How he locks his knees straight and does not move as he screams. And he thinks,  _ he’s trying, he really is, in his own way. _ )

Koto’s voice is sharp and loud as she shouts Kageyama’s name, and Kageyama quiets down immediately, shrinking back in himself, eyes widening.  

Oikawa does not like this. Does not like it one bit. Feels his own anger grow in his stomach seeing _someone_ _else_ shout down at Kageyama in such a fashion.

Oikawa wonders how she can be so successful so quickly. How one shout sends Kageyama into terrified silence, anger giving way to desperation as he pleads to stay on the court only to be shown the bench. Is it from experience? Is it from some prior agreement broken by him acting up?

_ Has she hit him? _ Oikawa can’t help but think, fingers clenching at his knees at the very thought. 

After the game resumes with a substitute, Koto moves to sit beside Kageyama’s sulking form, leaning down and whispering something or another in his ear. He looks up, turning around and catching sight of both Oikawa and Ushijima behind him. He scurries off the bench, rushing up the steps to stand in front of the pair.

“Why are you here?” Kageyama asks.

“To see you play.” Oikawa responds. 

“Why?” Kageyama asks. 

“Why not?” Oikawa counters. 

Kageyama frowns, and instead decides to sit down beside Ushijima, kicking his legs back out, “Sorry my team sucks.”

“Why do you say that?” Oikawa asks, leaning forward so he can peek around Ushijima and watch Kageyama’s reactions. The boy stares straight forward, frown heavy on his face. 

Kageyama shrugs, kicking the seat in front of him, “Because they’re slow. And they don’t listen. And they suck.”

Oikawa snorts, leaning back. Ushijima frowns, but says nothing either, shifting his gaze to watch the team continue to play. The new setter is definitely less skilled then Kageyama, but his level matches that of his teammates, creating a more cohesive unit in the long run.

Watching them do well sours Kageyama’s mood, forcing his legs to kick out more and more violently as he sits, until Ushijima puts his hand on his knee to force him to stop.

“Let’s go home,” Ushijima decides. 

Oikawa blinks over at him, awoken from his deep concentration, “So soon?”

Ushijima tilts his head toward Kageyama, the boy’s fingers twisting at the hem of his shirt, shoulders hunched as he glares furiously at the floor. Oikawa sighs, standing up and giving his own nod for Ushijima to lead the way home. 

But Oikawa can’t help his curiousity, his need to meddle and  _ know _ , so he walks in line with Kageyama and asks, “What do you think of your coach, Tobio-chan?”

Kageyama has his hands shoved deep in his pockets, kicking at small snow piles whenever they pass them on the slim sidewalk. He shrugs, “She’s nice most of the time. She’s really good at volleyball.”

“Most of the time?” Oikawa presses. 

Kageyama shrugs.

“Tobio, remember what I said, when we first talked?” Oikawa reminds, ignoring the confused look Ushijima sends him, “You tell us if anyone’s hurting you. Especially an adult.”

“It’s not like that,” Kageyama huffs, kicking at the snow a bit harder, “I just don’t like disappointing her. Or getting in trouble. Because then she yells and makes me sit out.”

Oikawa nods, “Why don’t you listen when we yell at you?”

Kageyama glowers, “Because it’s stupid. And I don’t want to. Or something.”

“Is your coach not stupid?”

“No,” Kageyama snaps, and there’s a harshness coating his tone as his frustration deepens, “She’s scary.”

“Scary?” Oikawa blinks, “You said she wasn’t hurting you?”

Kageyama lets out a frustrated noise, almost like a growl as he speeds up his steps. He waves his hands, trying to disipate the conversation entirely since he can’t seem to get his point across. Instead he settles for this, exclaiming, “All girls are just scary! Ok?”

Oikawa frowns, quickening his own step to catch up when Ushijima puts a hand on his arm to slow him back down, “Let him be.” He says it sternly, and his fingers dig into OIkawa’s arm like a warning, enough to make the man pause and give in without any sort of argument. 

It’s not enough to stave off the eruption building in the boy’s chest.  

Kageyama finally blows up only a street or two from home, when he isn't paying attention, consumed in miserable thought and walks right into the street. Ushijima lurches forward, grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and wrenching him back as a car honks angrily past them. The entire incident is startling, and before Oikawa can even assess what’s happened, Kageyama has started screaming curses, flailing his arms and kicking at Ushijima with little mercy or care. 

It takes fifteen minutes to get Kageyama to sit down, another ten to stop his crying and then five more to convince him to get back up again. 

Oikawa and Ushijima are too exhausted when they get home to mention any of it to Iwaizumi. So Iwaizumi is left in silence, frowning at the sight of his boyfriends stewing, and Kageyama barricading himself in his room. 

That sick feeling in his stomach returns, twisting and turning. The misery in the house is suffocating, and he can’t help but feel like he invited it in himself. 

* * *

“But will you  _ behave _ ?” Oikawa asks, again, as he folds Kageyama’s clothing neatly on his bed.

Kageyama squirms next to him, huffing and puffing, “Yes! I will! I promise! I want to go!”

“Behaving means getting along with your teammates,” Oikawa reminds. 

“I know!” Kageyama replies.

“ _ All _ of your teammates.”

“I know that! I’m not stupid!” Kageyama glowers, hands fisting tightly at the hem of his shirt. He had grabbed at the clothing prematurely to stuff it into his bag already, which had started the new argument on whether or not he  _ could even _ go to training camp after all. Now he was doing his absolute best to keep his hands to himself, even if Oikawa-san was being  _ too _ slow. 

Oikawa places the clothing in the bag neatly, checking over the contents one last time before zipping it up, “Here’s the deal, Tobio-chan, you can go to training camp but on one condition.”

Kageyama squints at him. 

“You make one friend,” Oikawa says, while holding up a finger. 

Kageyama groans, but acquiesces nonetheless, and Oikawa leaves him to his room to be. They still have a bit of time before they need to walk him to his bus pick up. He walks to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and grabbing at a soda can. He runs through Kageyama’s packing list inside his head over and over again making sure he’s thought of everything. 

“What is wrong?” Ushijima interrupts, bringing him back to the fact he’s just standing in the middle of the kitchen.. 

“Is this a good idea?” Oikawa wonders aloud. 

“Thought you would be excited to have the house kid-free for a week,” Iwaizumi comments from his place lounging on the couch, the TV playing dully in the background. 

Oikawa huffs, “I  _ am _ happy about  _ that _ .” He tugs at his bangs, “What if he blows up in front of everyone? What if he hurts someone?”

“We can not always be there for him,” Ushijima reminds. 

Oikawa sighs. 

Iwaizumi frowns, looking back at his phone and trying not to think of the day Kageyama leaves for good. He closes out of the text conversation with Matsukawa, and sits up, “It’ll be a learning experience.”

Ushijima nods, “His coach seems to be able to quiet him down. I am sure he will be fine.”

“They’re not even going that far,” Iwaizumi continues, “Worse comes to worse I go pick him up in the middle of the night.”

“I know,” Oikawa sighs again, “I know.”

“You alright?” Iwaizumi calls, hooking his arm around the back of the couch to peer over it. 

Oikawa ignores him, continuing to clack his nails against the top of the aluminum can. Finally, he snaps it open, taking a sip and turning around. 

He comes over, sitting down in the armchair, and bringing his socked feet up to rest against the edge of the coffee table. He tugs at his pant legs by the knee where they bunch up, smoothing down the wrinkles. 

Iwaizumi lowers the volume on the TV with his remote, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend. Oikawa doesn’t look over, sliding his thumb against the can, wiping away the condensation beading around the rim. Ushijima frowns, moving to settle himself in the room as well, bringing his laptop with him, as if it isn't obvious he can tell their about to have one of  _ their _ conversations and wants to be part of it. 

The show Iwaizumi is watching ends, and the next episode begins before Oikawa finally speaks up, “When do we have to leave?”

“Half an hour,” Ushijima responds, giving away his interest in the conversation.

Oikawa sits up a little, finishing his drink and placing it down on one of the coasters near his feet. He chews on his bottom lip. 

“Don’t,” Iwaizumi says, nudging his calf with his foot.

Oikawa sticks his tongue out, swiping it over his bottom lip to make sure he isn’t bleeding. The comment is enough to break his silence, “I was talking to Naru-chan today.”

Iwaizumi hums, with a nod. 

“I asked her if she knew any therapists that work with children,” Oikawa continues, picking at a pesky thread on the arm of his chair, “I think he needs to start talking to a professional sooner rather than later.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait though?” Iwaizumi argues, “I would hate to have him open up to a therapist just to have to change to a different person when he, you know,” he swallows, letting the sentence hang in the air. 

Oikawa ignores the churn in his stomach, flicking a speck of dust in to the air. He shrugs, “I think getting him used to it has its merits. Your first therapist isn’t usually the best fit.”

“You speak from experience?” Ushijima asks, closing his laptop. 

“No, I got lucky,” Oikawa replies, “Naru-chan is an angel. But she also fell for me because of my natural charms. I don’t think Tobio will fair as easily.”

Iwaizumi snorts, scratching at his cheek, “Let’s wait until the next school year starts in a few weeks. He’s used to things changing around then so it won’t be as much of a shock.”

“Fine,” Oikawa concedes, bringing his feet back down to the ground, ending the conversation. “Let’s just, let’s go send him off before he gets too antsy.”

“Who’s the one getting antsy?” Iwaizumi comments, but Oikawa doesn’t hear him, or at least doesn’t react, picking at something under his nails. Iwaizumi blinks, flicking his gaze over to Ushijima. 

They share a look before Ushijima stands up, “I’ll go get him.”

 

* * *

There’s something relieving about having a Kageyama-free home. There’s less egg shells to walk on, less conversations to steer away from, less stress at the end of the day.

But there is something  _ empty _ about a Kageyama-free home. There is a certain unexpected quiet at dinner, a lack of energy at the end of the day that consumes everyone's attention, and the colors don’t seem as vivid.

No one wants to broach the subject. 

Still, they take advantage of the temporary peace. 

“We’re going out tonight,” Oikawa decides, clapping his hands together as he comes home from work that Friday evening. 

“We are?” Iwaizumi asks, already dressed down in his boxers and old t-shirt. 

“We are,” Oikawa says firmly, “When’s the last time we all went on a date?”

“I believe it was November 17th, when we had your high school friends babysit for the night,” Ushijima recalls.

“Two months ago!” Oikawa cries, “Two months! Two whole months since we had any fun.”

“We’ve had fun,” Iwaizumi snaps, “Plenty of fun.”

“Don’t be so dirty, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa huffs, “I want to dress up. And go to a nice dinner with my handsome boyfriends. And so that’s what we’re doing. Now.”

“Always what you want, huh?” Iwaizumi teases, but he gets up all the same, ever compliant to his wishes. 

“Yes, because I am a Delight,” Oikawa nods, preening at the laugh he gets from his comment. He shoos his boys to their closets to change, leaving them alone to do the same. 

Oikawa has them all change into sharp suits, accentuating broad shoulders and narrow hips. He has their ties bring out their eyes, and helps them with their cuffs. He combs through their hair with his fingers, fawning and gushing over them like the dolls he always wanted and never got.

They let him.

They love him. 

Ushijima drives them downtown, following the directions Oikawa recites carefully into his ear to the fancy restaurant he had somehow managed to land reservations at earlier in the week. Iwaizumi complains about the limited and  _ expensive _ menu the entire way over, but shuts up when they finally park. 

They don’t hold hands on the walk over, even though all fingers itch to do so. 

It just isn’t the place. 

They’re seated at a half circle booth, snug in a dimly lit corner, surrounded by flickering candle light and ambient noise. Oikawa’s smile is brilliant for the waitress, chatting with her about their wine selection before making a decision for the table. 

Ushijima takes his time to examine the menu in front of him, eyes squinting in the limited light and mouthing over the foreign words. Oikawa has already made his decision based on price. Iwaizumi as well, but in the other direction. 

Once they place their orders and their menus are taken away Oikawa begins to fill the silence with complaints of work, gossip of the neighborhood and everything else under the sun. Ushijima watches him and Iwaizumi go back and forth, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. 

They notice eventually, Iwaizumi raising an eyebrow, “You look drunk, but you’re not allowed to drink tonight.”

Ushijima shakes his head, “I am just fond.”

Oikawa kicks him under the table, “Don’t be cute.”

Ushijima chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest, and takes a sip of his water, “There are things I can not help.”

Oikawa sighs to push down his growing smile, bringing his foot back to play with Iwaizumi’s beside him. He leans back a little, drumming his fingers against the table before speaking up, “Oh, I have some updates on Tobio-chan’s bestie.”

Iwaizumi looks over at him, putting down his chopsticks, “Yeah?”

“Hinata’s the family name,” Oikawa says, “Single family home. Father passed away. Mom had to move them to a smaller place. I’ve been searching through school records and there’s a Hinata Shouyou at Yugigaoka. Same year as Tobio-chan.”

“Does he have orange hair?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa shrugs, “Haven’t been able to confirm. No pictures in their records. I was thinking of sending Yahaba out to go see.”

“Don’t make your assistant do creepy things,” Iwaizumi chides.

“He’s my  _ protege _ . And it’s fine, I’ll have him take his little boyfriend, and he’ll look more official with a cop next to him.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “Don’t ruin our squad’s reputation with your illicit behaviors. And wait, are they  _ actually _ dating now?”

“They might as well be.”

“Who?” Ushijima cuts in, finally. 

“Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi responds. 

“Ah,” he pauses a moment, and then frowns, “Isn’t that your dog? That you have been training?”

Iwaizumi blinks, and Oikawa bursts into laughter, “That’s absolutely right, Toshi.”

Iwaizumi slaps Oikawa’s arm, “He is  _ not _ . He’s a new hire I’ve been showing the ropes too. He has a temper and you know how this shithead is always so fond of weird nicknames.”

“I’m pretty sure he bites,” Oikawa comments, leaning forward almost conspiratorially, “At least if the turtlenecks Yahaba’s been wearing have anything to say about it.”

“Jesus Christ, how has he put up with you for this long,” Iwaizumi snaps, shaking his head. Oikawa just giggles as a response. He brings his hand up to cover it, but his mirth is given away by his crescent shaped eyes. 

“So,” Ushijima says, “We may have found Kageyama’s friend. What next, then?”

“I guess we have them meet,” Iwaizumi shrugs, digging at his food self consciously, “Or ask Kageyama what he wants.”

“That’s it?” Oikawa blinks, “I go through all these hurdles, slaving away at my computer for weeks and all we’ll do with the info is ‘see what Kageyama wants’?”

“What did you have in mind?” Iwaizumi asks.

“A grand ball. Or  _ something _ ,” Oikawa sighs, waving his chopstick in the air, “They find each other at the stroke of midnight. Something grand.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwaizumi says.

“You love me,” Oikawa shoots back with a sparkling grin. 

“I do,” Iwaizumi says, his voice heavy, as if admitting it is physically painful. But he leans up all the same, pressing a chaste kiss to Oikawa’s lips, almost like an apology for his teasing. 

“Iwa-chan, so bold of you,” Oikawa teases, swirling his wine glass, “You’re usually so guarded in public. What did I do to deserve such a treat?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, hoping the wine can account for the flush on his face, “Not all of us are as shameless as you.”

Oikawa giggles, sipping his drink. He hums, “I’ve spent my entire life doing my best to corrupt you, and yet you still hold so fast to your morals.”

Ushijima hides his smile behind his cup. 

Iwaizumi steps on Oikawa’s foot under the table, “Shut up.”

The conversation would drop then, moving on to some other teasing comments, thoughtful ideas or whatever Oikawa feels like dredging up. But the sick twisted feeling circling in Iwaizumi’s gut takes hold of him in that moment, tying his intestines into knots. He can’t help but spit out, under his breath and acidic, “If anything, I’m the one corrupting the both of you.”

Brown and gold eyes peer at him quickly, scrutinizing his downward face critically and the sudden turn in tone, “What are you saying?” Ushijima can’t help but ask. 

Oikawa squints at him.

Iwaizumi’s throat feels dry, feeling suddenly cornered. He shrugs, as if that will take away the weight bearing down on his chest, “You know what I mean.”

“I am afraid I do not,” Ushijima presses, voice growing sterner.

Oikawa’s gaze never wavers, nor does his expression.

Iwaizumi licks his lips, “I...I’m the one that pushed you all into this, made everything more, uh, more complicated and difficult. Weird. Is all, I was saying.”

“You think our relationship is difficult and weird?” Ushijima repeats, for clarification purposes. 

Iwaizumi takes a drink of his wine, “I mean, it is, isn’t it? Objectively.”

“Do you think we would be happier if it wasn’t, what it is? Weird and difficult?” Ushijima probes.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi huffs, “Sometimes, I think, I don’t know, that, I brought you both down with me, I guess. Like, you’d be happier, otherwise or--Jesus fucking Christ, Tooru will you stop staring at me and just say something?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond to the outburst and sudden glare, keeping his gaze level, before flicking it away and taking a long sip of his wine. He lets them sit in the silence of it, the ambient noise of the restaurant falling away, so all they are left with is the sounds of their beating hearts and the slight clattering of Oikawa’s glass being placed back on the table. 

Oikawa licks his lips, and then the right corner of his mouth tugs into a knowing smile, “My dear, sweet, stupid Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, watching from the corner of his eye as Iwaizumi’s hackles raise, “Have I ever loved anything with all my heart that wasn’t difficult or weird?”

Iwaizumi stares at him. 

Oikawa laughs, bringing a hand up to rub his face, “God, you’re so sincerely sweet,” he smiles, “You don’t have to worry. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Iwaizumi replies, just to make sure they know that’s still true. Will always be true. 

“We love you,” Oikawa repeats, slinking a bit closer, voice dipping lower, “Do you need a reminder of how much we adore you?”

Iwaizumi leans back, ending up pressing against Ushijima’s shoulder, the warmth cutting into him. 

“Do we need to remind you, how much more  _ fun _ being three is rather than two?” Oikawa continues, brown eyes catching the light of the candles and setting them aflame. 

Iwaizumi feels parched. 

It’s hazy after that. They end up back in their car, Ushijima hurrying to drive them home, while Oikawa has Iwaizumi pinned down in the back seat, ravaging his mouth, his neck, his collar bone, anything he can get his lips and teeth on. 

Iwaizumi is gasping, muttering curses and pleas to stop, and to _not_ stop. But it’s when Oikawa has Iwaizumi’s pants down to his ankles, voice hoarse, and lips sore, that he orders Ushijima to just _pull over_ _and give him a hand._

Ushijima wrenches the car to the side of the road to do just that, no questions asked. 

It’s not a big car, but they make it work, always have. It’s cramped, and it’s hard, and it’s complicated, and it’s weird and silly at times, but it’s them together, in this corner of the world now and forever. 

It’s hot, and sticky, the windows fogged up, and the air suffocating, but no one wants to move or untangle themselves from each other. No one dares figure out where one person begins and the other ends. 

Eventually, as breathing evens, voices quiet, and the sounds of the world around them come back into focus, Ushijima moves.

He pulls on his shirt, and drags his boxers back up, stepping out of the car to get back into the driver's seat. They’re still about fifteen minutes from home, but the roads are clear now, and its just them and the stars above. 

Iwaizumi is asleep, curled up in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, hands holding onto him like a vice grip. Oikawa is half asleep, eyes dangerously closed, but murmuring words directed to both Iwaizumi and Ushijima, love drunk and incoherent.

Ushijima takes a moment to remember the date, to remember the time, and to remembe the night, to keep with him the rest of his life. 

When they do get home he’s able to carry Iwaizumi up into the apartment, Oikawa staggering beside him, distractingly pressing kisses against his arms, fingers dancing along his straining biceps. 

Oikawa kisses Ushijima when they place Iwaizumi down in the bed, dragging him in too, dragging his fingers along his arms like a man in need of tactile reassurance. Ushijima surrounds him as best he can, eager and receptive to all the attention. 

They drift in and out of sleep, all three of them, waking up to press sleepy kisses to each other wherever they can reach, not even fully conscious, running on muscle memory more than anything. It’s a wonderful haze to be in, like a loving embrace that clouds the entire room in heavenly comfort. 

And then Oikawa’s phone screeches into the night, startling them all. He groans, knowing already it must be his family with some other ridiculous drama to drop right back into his lap. He fumbles with his nightstand to ignore the call, only to realize his phone isn’t there. 

It’s still in his pants pocket, somewhere on the floor. He lets it ring out. But then it comes again, loud, piercing and insistent. Iwaizumi lets out a groan, and Oikawa snaps a few nasty curses as he hauls himself out of the warmth of the bed and into the cold January air. He fishes through his clothes in the darkness, finally closing his hands around his phone, squinting at the harsh light that illuminates the screen.

He freezes, then, heart sinking at the contact name taking over his screen.

_ Tobio Chan’s Coach _

He quickly slides to accept the call, voice raw and overworked from the evening, “Hello?”

“Oikawa-san, I am so sorry to call you at this hour, but I have to tell you, Kageyama is missing and we can’t find him. I am s--”

“What do you mean  _ missing _ ?” Oikawa hisses back, and his voice is enough to rouse both his boyfriends up from the bed. Ushijima flicks on the light by the nightstand.

“He ran off at dinner but we assumed he went to his room to get some space. We’ve been searching for hours now and---”

“ _ Hours!? _ ” Oikawa repeats, “And you call  _ now _ ?”

“Oikawa-san, please, I understand your frustration, I am upset as well. Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi demands, getting out of bed to stand by Oikawa’s side. Oikawa pulls the phone away from his ear to switch it to speakerphone. 

“Tobio’s run off and they can’t find him,” Oikawa says, the words coming out fast and running into each other. Ushijima shoves his pants on, throwing pieces of clothing at their rightful owners standing in the room. 

Iwaizumi frowns, but a calmness overtakes him from years of working in crises, “When and where was the last time you saw him? Have you called the police?”

“The last time we saw him was at dinner, which must have been around 6pm. He ran off in the direction of his room, we didn’t, we didn’t realize he wasn’t there until I sent the boys to bed around 10. We’ve been searching ever since.”

Iwaizumi flicks his eyes to the clock and notes the time,  _ 2:21am,  _ “What was happening at dinner? Anything that would have upset him? We’re heading over there right now. If you haven’t called the police call them as soon as we hang up.”

“We were celebrating the end of camp,” Koto continues, at a loss, “He was doing fine. But then he just ran off. I haven’t a clue why. Everyone was so excited we were having hotpot.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t think anything of it at first, but suddenly the phone is wrenched from his grasp, so that Oikawa can shoves his face into the receiver. A fury paints his face, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes as he  _ screams _ , “You served  _ hotpot _ in front of Tobio?”

“O-Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa hangs up the call, his whole body trembling. Ushijima is working faster than the both of them, rushing out the door and calling back, “I’m pulling the car up, get dressed and hurry.”

“Oikawa, why the fuck did you hang up on her! She might have had more information!” Iwaizumi hisses, lunging for the phone to call the woman back. 

“Don’t you see what’s happened?” Oikawa hisses, voice sticky in his throat.

Iwaizumi squints at him, and it’s as he sees the water beginning to collect in Oikawa’s eyes that his tired mind starts to spin, and understand, and realize, even before OIkawa spits it out in the dead space between them. 

And his blood begins to boil, hotter than any pot could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see huh?
> 
> summer was quite the ride for me. did a roadtrip. was a camp counselor. started dating someone. moved to a new city. started a new job. started a new grad program. 
> 
> but im back baby and buckle up cause we're nearing the end of it
> 
> reviews make me smile, and let me know if there's people out there who still wanna read this strange little story so close to my heart
> 
> until next time <3


	14. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night, Kageyama tries.

Kageyama wanted to go on the trip more than anything, but the moment the bus pulls up he has a hard time letting go of Ushijima-san’s hand. They hang back, waiting as the other boys and their parents load up the bus, taking their time.

Oikawa-san leaves to go speak with Koto-san. Kageyama doesn’t really know what about, because he’s too far to hear, and if he moves now Ushijima-san might let him go. 

Iwaizumi-san nudges his shoulder, making him look up, “Hey, you nervous?”

“No,” Kageyama lies.

“Wow,” Iwaizumi-san says, blinking, “I remember I was really nervous my first training camp. I’d never been gone from home that long. That’s really cool of you Kageyama.”

Kageyama nods, accepting the complement. He squeezes Ushijima-san’s hand with his own, maybe a bit too hard. Ushijima-san doesn’t mind though, or at least he doesn’t pull away. 

The last few boys are trickling into the vehicle, and Kageyama’s feet tap at the pavement beneath him. Oikawa-san is  _ still _ speaking with Koto-san, and he has some sort of paper he is going over with her, and Kageyama wonders if it’s his file. Or a summary of his file, because his file is very big. 

He doesn’t want Koto-san to know about his file. 

Adults who look at his file stop liking him. 

(Well, with three exceptions.)

He bites his lip. 

“Alright, bud,” Iwaizumi-san says, making Kageyama look up, “Time to disembark.”

Kageyama lets go of his lip, giving a quick nod and releasing Ushijima-san’s hand. He starts walking toward the bus, but Iwaizumi-san catches his collar with a chuckle that burns Kageyama’s ears, “Don’t forget your bag, Kageyama.”

Kageyama swallows, embarrassed and nods again, grabbing the bag. He hesitates then, letting go of the bag to give Ushijima-san a quick half hug. He does the same, but even quicker to Iwaizumi-san. They don’t say anything, which is nice. 

Oikawa-san is by the door of the bus with Koto-san, who is trying to board the bus and get out of whatever conversation they are still having. Kageyama walks by him, and Oikawa-san turns to him and licks his finger to rub some dirt away from Kageyama’s cheek. Kageyama slaps the hand away with a scowl. 

“Be good, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa-san says. 

Kageyama huffs, but he hesitates, eyes flickering back toward Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san. He looks up at Oikawa-san, fingers twisting the strap of his bag, “I can still live with you after camp right?” he whispers. 

Oikawa-san blinks, and Kageyama sees his unsafe smile slip from his face to be replaced with a neutral, natural expression. The one Kageyama likes best, because it makes sense. “Yes, Tobio,” Oikawa-san whispers back, as if he  _ knows  _ Kageyama doesn’t want anyone else to hear, “You can still live with us. And if you want to leave early and come home, just call.”

Kageyama nods and turns away quickly, scurrying up the bus steps and stepping into the aisle. He doesn’t glance at Koto-san in the front seat, but can feel her stare on the back of his neck. Instead he looks over at the bus. It’s crowded and impossibly loud, everyone screaming in excitement. The great majority is concentrated in the back, so Kageyama makes the decision to slip into the empty row right behind Koto-san. 

He sets his bag down by his feet and draws his knees up to his chest. He lets his head lean against the glass, and keeps the world away by plugging his ears with headphones. He watches Iwaizumi-san, Ushijima-san and Oikawa-san regroup outside. Iwaizumi-san catches his eyes and waves to him. Kageyama looks away. 

The bus revs up and they start moving, the drive on the unsteady roads making Kageyama’s head bounce against the window. He doesn’t mind. 

He thinks about the word  _ home _ .

* * *

Kageyama decides he hates camp.

At first it’s quite the opposite. They arrive full of energy and excitement, and his teammates seem more willing to work harder and keep at his level. The day is full of drills, running back and forth, slides, receives. All the basics. Kageyama loves it. 

It’s simple. It’s easy. It doesn’t require much thought. He likes the burn in his legs when he runs, the beat of his heart in his chest and the warmth of his cheeks. Reminders that he is alive and fine.

It isn’t until nightfall that he decides he hates camp. 

Everyone is loud over dinner, a heaping serving of rice with an array of toppings. It’s good food, and Kageyama is starving, but it takes everything in him not to swat at all the boys pushing and swaying around him to get food. He knows one misstep and he might get benched, but it’s hard. 

He does end up shouting, loud and furious at all of them to sit down. And he  _ may _ have cursed loudly too. But Koto-san only levels a glare strong enough to silence him, rather than do anything punitive. 

After the struggle of dinner, they’re sent to their assigned rooms. This is also terrible. All the second years are in one room together, their futons laid out and touching close to each other to fit everyone. The second years are rowdy and full of bravado about spending the night alone. Kageyama thinks about dragging his futon into the hall to sleep. 

He’s reminded of his year in the orphanage, sleeping in a room with ten or so other boys, but at least there there was space between beds, and everyone had their own cubby. He could already see his classmates rolling into his futon in the middle of the night. He squeezes his fingers into his palms. 

His room is called for bathtime, and his roommates race off to the showers with their towels and toiletries, giggling and shrieking about whatever. Kageyama hangs back, trudging behind them and keeping his eyes on the floor. 

He bumps into Koto-san, who snorts at his obliviousness. She smiles at him, “I was looking for you, Kageyama.”

Kageyama blinks, he worries that this is when she tells him he’s being kicked off the team because he said a bad word. 

But no, what leaves her mouth is something else entirely, “Your uncle said you might like to take your baths alone. If you want, you can go once everyone else is done. I’ll come get you.”

Kageyama blinks, considering the option, the free pass. But then he sees the boys in his room pause at the end of the hallway, and Shallot-kun catches his eye, “What’s Kageyama doing?”

“Probably in trouble,” another boy snorts.

Kageyama frowns, looking up at Koto-san, “I’m fine,” he says. He squares his shoulders, and starts walking down the hallway to rejoin his group. 

Koto-san watches him go with a sigh, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Kageyama doesn't bother responding, instead concentrating on neutralizing his face as he throws the bathroom door open. 

The noise startles most of the boys to drop their towels, their only garments at that point, leading to a chorus of laughter and shouts. Kageyama ignores them, trudging to one of the empty shower stools and stripping off his own towel. He takes a seat and lets the spray of cold water hit him. He grabs his soap and starts scrubbing at himself fast and furious. He ignores the curious looks he gets from his classmates. 

Showers have always been the same for Kageyama since he was old enough to have them by himself. Quick, clinical and efficient. The less time the better. He washes off the soap and grabs his shampoo, scratching it throughout his scalp enough to make a few of the other boys cringe at the phantom feeling of nails on their skulls. 

Kageyama rinses off his hair then and shuts off the water. He dries himself with his towel, wrapping it back around his hips and walking back toward where he’d left his shower shoes. 

“Are you not getting in?” Shallot-kun asks. Kageyama looks over to see him and the majority of the boys have migrated to the large bathtub that takes up most of the room. Kageyama blinks, takes a step toward them before he feels the gush of steam hit his face. 

His heart leaps into his throat, but he catches himself, because he hasn’t gotten wet, and it’s not even that hot. He shakes his head, not trusting his voice, and leaves the bathroom without any other comment, ignoring the looks from his teammates. 

He scurries into the room, changing into his pajamas and taking in a shaky break. He has about ten minutes of peace in his room without the other second years. He takes the moment to drag his futon into the corner of the room, giving himself more space from everyone. 

He thinks about calling Ushijma-san, but he doesn’t want to give up. He doesn’t want to be weak. He doesn’t want to be a bother. He doesn't want to disappoint them. 

He glares at his phone and sets his mouth into a thin determined line. 

Eventually, the rest of the second years enter the room, filing and collapsing noisily onto their futons. If they notice Kageyama has shoved himself into a corner they don’t bring it up, preferring to keep to the conversation at hand. Kageyama watches them. 

He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, and he doesn’t really care. He presses his face into his pillow and tries to shut the whole world out. 

* * *

On the third day Kageyama gets stuck with Shallot-kun during receive drills.  Kageyama does not have a go-to partner for these drills, like the other boys seem to, so he normally ends up with whoever is left out for the day.

Lazy-kun is annoyed that morning, pointedly ignoring Shallot-kun, who he usually sticks close to. Kageyama isn’t sure why, nor does he feel the need to find out. But this development leads to Lazy-kun quickly snatching another drill partner with more energy than Kageyama has ever seen him possess, leaving Shallot-kun alone and exposed in the gym. Koto-san is quick to order him to pair up with Kageyama. 

Kageyama grabs a ball from one of the bins without comment, spinning it in his hands with a smile as he tests its weight. He pads over to an empty corner of the gym, not bothering to see if Shallot-kun is following him. If he isn’t, Koto-san will make him, so there’s nothing he really needs to do. 

When Kageyama does turn around, satisfied with the spot he’s landed on, he finds Shallot-kun standing in front of him, hands folded and frown tugging his face down. His hair is slicked up high, which Kageyama now knows is from the mountain of hair gel he uses every morning. (He did not recognize him the first time he stepped out of a shower, not until he yelled at him for staring and pushed him out of the way.)

“What?” Shallot-kun barks, annoyed, and Kageyama blinks, focusing back on the reality at hand. He squeezes the ball in his grip before sending it in the air and using his forearms to pass it in a graceful ark toward his partner. 

Kageyama is content to let the thud of the volleyball hitting their arms fill the space between them. The steady rhythm is soothing, like static in the background. Kageyama does not need to think about anything, his eyes have to watch the ball and nothing else, his arms have to stay clasped and still. It’s easy. 

Shallot-kun can not stay quiet for long. 

“I can’t believe him,” he hisses, eventually. It takes Kageyama out of his reverie, and he blinks up at his partner. He still manages to send his receive correctly. 

“Who?” Kageyama decides to ask, feeling more relaxed than he usually does when confronted with a social interaction from one of his teammates. He doesn’t have to figure out where to look at Shallot-kun, or what to do with his body, because he needs to focus on the ball. It makes talking easier when his eyes don’t have to look at him. 

“Kunimi, duh,” Shallot-kun grouses. 

Kageyama keeps his gaze on the ball as he sends it back up, “Who?”

“Huh?” Shallot-kun grunts, and accidentally elbows the ball, sending it careening into the wall to the right of them. It bounces off it, and Kageyama quickly lunges forward to catch it. 

When he stands up, Shallot-kun is staring at him, “Kunimi? Him?” Shallot-kun points a finger down the court, and Kageyama follows the direction to settle on Lazy-kun, yawning into his hand. 

“Oh,” Kageyama nods.

Shallot-kun seems flabbergasted by this, “How-How do you not know his name by now?”

Kageyama shrugs, “I don’t know your name.”

Shallot-kun looks absolutely stunned, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, “Are you serious?”

Kageyama shrugs again, leaning down to scratch at his ankle through his thick socks, “Are you ready?”

Shallot-kun squints at him, but since he did not say no, Kageyama sends the ball back in the air. The sight of it seems to restart Shallot-kun’s brain, who moves back into the position to receive. 

The ball goes back and forth another good five times before Shallot-kun speaks up again, “You’re a dumbass, Kageyama.”

Kageyama frowns, hitting the ball back a bit harder than necessary, “Shut up.”

“And a weirdo,” Shallot-kun continues, doing his best to hide the wince when he receives the ball, “I don’t get you.”

“That makes you a dumbass, then,” Kageyama retorts, easily sending the ball back, a bit higher and faster. 

Shallot-kun has to lean forward sharply to receive it, sending an annoyed glare at his partner, “This is why no one wants to be paired up with you,” he snaps. 

Kageyama doesn’t really care, sending the ball back. 

Shallot-kun frowns when he doesn’t get any kind of reaction. He’s not paying attention, and sends the ball out of bounds. Kageyama trudges after it, picking it up before it rolls across the gym. 

He squeezes the ball and thinks a moment, about Oikawa, and the promise he made. To be nicer, or whatever, or more social or something like that. He huffs. 

He trots back up to Shallot-kun and passes the ball, but before his partner can receive it, he asks, “Are you and Kunimi friends?”

“Huh?” Shallot-kun responds, focusing too closely on receiving the ball correctly this time, “Of course we’re friends.”

“How do you know?” Kageyama asks. 

Shallot-kun furrows his brows, “Because we’ve been hanging out since last year? I don’t know. We just are.”

Kageyama nods slowly, sending the ball back. 

Shallot-kun seems unnerved by the question and the silence his response to it garners. He frowns further, continuing, “Just cause he’s mad at me right now doesn't mean we’re not friends.”

“Why is he mad at you?” Kageyama asks. 

Shallot-kun rolls his eyes, “‘Cause I told everyone about how hot his sister is last night, remember?”

Kageyama doesn’t remember. So he shakes his head.

Shallot-kun sends the ball to him, “Oh, it was in the baths. So I guess you weren’t there, because you were being your weirdo loner self.”

Kageyama tenses, and the ball hits the bend of his arm wrong, sending it the other way. Shallot-kun  _ grins _ at that, somehow excited to run off and grab the ball. Or maybe excited he got Kageyama to mess up for once. 

He comes back, seemingly more comfortable in his feet, as if he’s found something to pick away at the perfect genius star child, Kageyama Tobio, “Everyone knows why you don’t bathe with us anymore. Why Koto-san made you stop.”

Kageyama’s eyes widen, and he squeezes his hands tightly together.

Shallot-kun’s grin tears his face in half, revealing his teeth, “It’s cause you’re gay right? And you can’t handle it without jacking off.”

Kageyama blinks and can’t help tilting his head to the side, “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, dumbass. Why else wouldn’t you shower with us?” Shallot-kun retorts, but his words don’t sound as confident now. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Kageyama confesses, “What are you talking about?”

Shallot-kun reddens, not expecting this turn, “Jacking off? You know...it’s...it’s when...it’s that thing...you know.”

Kageyama stares at him. 

“You know,” Shallot-kun continues desperately, “What the...the senpais talk about in the locker room all the time.”

Kageyama squints. 

“Google it, you weirdo,” Shallot-kun huffs, squeezing the ball in his hands, and shifting his eyes to make sure Koto-san isn’t paying attention to them.

“Ok,” Kageyama shrugs.

Shallot-kun bites his lip and keeps the ball securely in his hands, “Ok, so then, if you don’t even know what jacking off is then, why aren’t you showering with us? Are you just gay and a dumbass about that too?”

“What does that mean?” Kageyama asks, getting a bit more frustrated by the interrogation. He doesn’t like feeling stupid, especially when at volleyball practice, the one place he’s supposed to not have to feel stupid at all. 

Shallot-kun opens his mouth, then closes it, “Do you...Do you not know about anything?”

“I know about volleyball,” Kageyama counters. 

“It’s when you like boys. You’re a boy who likes boys,” Shallot-kun explains. 

“Oh,” Kageyama says, “So like you and Kunimi? So you’re gay?”

Shallot-kun’s face flames up and he drops the ball by his feet, “I am not! We’re just friends! Don’t be so creepy!”

Kageyama blinks.

“It means you like boys  _ instead _ of girls, like you wanna marry them, and stuff,” he huffs out, bending down to pick up the ball before it rolls away.

“Oh,” Kageyama replies, “That’s like my uncles.”

Shallot-kun pauses, almost dropping the ball again, “Wait, what? Really?”

Kageyama shrugs, “Iwaizumi-san says they’re not married but they’re more married than my mom and dad ever were.”

“What?”

“They kiss all the time and it’s really annoying. Especially when Oikawa-san comes home, because I’m trying to talk to Ushijima-san about plants but then Oikawa-san comes in and they have to kiss and than Ushijima-san gets distracted because Oikawa-san is always really distracting. It’s really annoying.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shallot-kun says, “So your uncles are gay?”

“I guess,” Kageyama replies. 

Shallot-kun grimaces, “That’s so gross.”

Kageyama shrugs, “It doesn’t really matter. It’s nice when Oikawa-san gets mad at me because Iwaizumi-san and Ushijima-san are good at distracting him and then I don’t get yelled at as much.”

Shallot-kun doesn’t seem convinced, but Kageyama can’t quite decipher his facial expression. He’s biting his lip, and is a bit red in the face, like he wants to ask more, but if he asks more it would look bad for himself. Kageyama doesn’t really get it. 

What he does think is that this is the longest he’s ever spoken to Shallot-kun, or anyone else on his team. And it makes him wonder, if maybe...just maybe…, “Are we friends?” 

Shallot-kun looks winded by the question, like it is the last thing he ever expected to come out of Kageyama’s mouth, let alone at this very moment. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He lets out an angry sigh, “You don’t even know my name!”

“You never told me,” Kageyama says simply. 

Shallot-kun doesn’t respond immediately, and Koto-san blows the whistle, making both their heads swivel toward her direction. She calls them all back to huddle up. 

Kageyama moves to trot over to her, but Shallot-kun stops him, shoving the ball into his arms. Before Kageyama can snap at him, Shallot-kun hisses under his breath, “It’s Kindaichi.”

Kageyama blinks, and it takes him a moment to realize what the boy means. By then  _ Kindaichi _ has already regrouped with the rest of his team, and pushed his way to be beside  _ Kunimi.  _ Kunimi levels him an unamused stare, but then lets his shoulders relax. 

Kageyama tosses the ball into the bin and stands with the group to listen to Coach’s instructions.

* * *

That night, Kageyama tries.

He waits for his roommates to come back, laughing and shouting at each other. Someone is pulling at Kindaichi’s long hair, now that it’s wet and flattened down. He’s yelling at them, but he doesn’t seem upset. 

As soon as they’re all back and settled into their spots, Kageyama quietly gets up, clutching his change of clothes to his chest, and heads down the hallway. The bathroom is empty as expected, humid and wet from the recent barrage of young boys. 

Kageyama slips out of his sweaty uniform, letting it sit by his bag. He takes a seat at the shower and scrubs at himself as best he can. He even shampoos his hair with the stuff Oikawa-san had bought him, after forcing him to sit through an embarrassing talk about personal hygiene. 

He washes off, and almost reflexively starts moving toward his pyjamas. But he hesitates. He squeezes his palms. He takes in a breath.

He turns toward the baths. 

They’re empty. The whole room is empty. It’s just him. 

He takes a step toward them, and then another, and another. Each one makes the air around him stickier, wetter,  _ hotter _ . He keeps moving, until he stands by the lip. There are wet steps here, to climb into the bath, and Kageyama hesitates.

He stays firmly planted, but he lets his arm reach out, straining as it arcs to let his fingers slip into the tub. 

He braces himself, feels his heart accelerate, feels his legs trembles, hears his mother shouting, hears his own screaming, feels the way his feet sizzle beneath him, and thinks,  _ I’m sorry, please I’m sorry. _ And he thinks,  _ I’m going to die _ .

And then he sees Iwaizumi-san and knows nothing bad could happen if he was there, because he’s strong and nice and would never even hurt Oikawa-san despite how annoying he is. 

And then he feels Ushijima-san’s hands on his shoulders, steady and grounding, and they don’t hold him down into the pot, like he sometimes thought they would, but they squeeze him and tell him he’s ok. 

And then he hears Oikawa-san’s voice, his rare soft voice, as it strokes his leg through the covers and tells him,  _ count to ten. _

He counts to ten. 

And when he hits ten nothing happens. He is still just standing by the edge of a hot tub naked, fingertips dipping just below the surface of the water, and he is ok. 

He is ok. 

Kageyama does not try to get in the tub. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to. He is happy with this. He is happy. He lets the wobbly smile takeover his face because he is alone and there is no one there to potentially scare. 

He grabs his towel and dries himself off. His face is wet, and it takes a moment for him to realize he’s crying. He doesn’t know why he is, because he’s pretty sure he’s happy. But maybe he’s wrong. 

He chokes on a sob and goes over to the sink to splash his face with cold water, and feels himself relax a bit more.

He changes into his pyjamas, and leaves the bath. He doesn’t go back to his room. Instead he sits down on the bench in the hallway, right next to the humming vending machine. He wipes his face with his towel before just letting it cover his entire head. 

He sits like that for a long while, until Koto-san finds him during her nightly patrol through the halls. She asks him if he’s ok and he nods. She tells him to go back to his room so he does. 

Everyone is asleep by the time he comes into the room, which makes him realize how  _ long _ he must have been gone. He sets his dirty uniform down by his stuff and hangs his towel. He goes toward his futon in the corner and hesitates. 

He grabs the edge, dragging it closer to the center of the room, where the rest of the boys are sleeping. It scrapes across the floor, the noise deafening in the silence, and makes Kageyama drop the corner with an even louder thud. 

He tenses, but no one else stirs. He’s only managed to move it a few inches, but he decides that’s good enough. He slips inside the warm covers and he drifts off to sleep with little issue. 

He dreams of sunflowers.

* * *

Kageyama decides he likes camp.

By the end of the week his arms and legs are sore but don’t feel like jelly. He has managed to increase his accuracy with his sets. He’s finally learned almost all of the other second year’s names. 

He’s able to put his whole hand in the hot tub for a few seconds. 

On the last day, Koto-san pulls him to the side during practice, and at first Kageyama is worried he’s in trouble, but Koto-san just has a smile on her face. 

“Kageyama, I’m really proud of you.”

Kageyama blinks, “Because I hit the water bottles with my set?”

She laughs, and Kageyama wonders why because he’s being serious. She shakes her head, “Your improvement is impressive, always has been. No, I’m proud of  _ you _ .”

“I don’t get it.”

She squeezes his shoulder, “You didn’t blow up at all this week. Or get very mad at anyone.”

Kageyama relaxes, mind thinking back to the events of the week. He’d been short with some teammates, annoyed and frustrated but...Koto-san is right. He doesn’t remembering screaming, or hitting anyone. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“Oh,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say. 

“That’s great Kageyama,” she emphasizes, and Kageyama feels a bit flustered by all the praise, especially since it’s not about volleyball, “Keep it up, ok? My first string setter needs to be a good role model.”

Kageyama nods before freezing. Mind shutting down at her words. His jaw drops open as he looks up at her, wide eyed. She laughs, ruffling his hair, “You’re a funny kid, Kageyama.”

“I’m the first string setter?” he repeats, dumbfounded. 

“I think you deserve it,” she nods, “Don’t tell anyone just yet. I’ll announce the change up during our next game.”

Kageyama folds himself in half with how deep his bow is, hands shooting back and up, “Thank you very much, Koto-san,” he shouts, keeping his head down low so she doesn’t see his smile and take back her words. 

She pats his head again, before shooing him back to practice. 

There’s an extra spring in his step for the rest of the day. His team loses the practice match against their senpais, but he doesn’t even care as he runs laps around the gym. His teammates make a snide comment about it but it just rolls off his shoulders. He can barely hear them. He is in his own world. 

The second years are starving when they finally get to dinner, having lost all their matches for the day and done more drills than any other group. Because it’s the last day, Koto-san takes them all across the street to a small restaurant, where they get their own room with a long table. 

It’s hot in the room, from all the sweaty preteens packed in, but Kageyama doesn’t even mind that, or how close together they all are. 

When he takes his seat, steam hits his face like a jump serve crashing into the other side of the court. In front of him sits a pot, water frothing at its mouth, bubbling and angry. 

Kageyama  _ does _ mind that.

He can only hear his heartbeat. 

It’s different than the warm baths. This water is boiling. Furious. The pot it is in is unforgiving and familiar. Kageyama can’t help but remember. 

The dread that would fill his bones when his mom would fall silent whenever she was beyond livid with him. Whenever he came home with a report card of Fs, and screamed and hit at her for shouting at him. The unadulterated fear as she would walk to the kitchen to grab her black pot and fill it with sink water. 

The click of the stove turning on. 

That no matter how much he begged she wouldn’t let go of him until the timer hit zero. How it was his fault to begin with, for being so bad. 

The second year beside him grabs a piece of meat from a plate, plunking it into the pot at too high a distance, because he isn’t paying attention, and is more concerned with shouting some mundane point to his friend. 

When the beef drops into the pot, water droplets spray out, earning surprised shrieks and laughs from the boys closest to the pot. And then silence. 

Because Kageyama’s scream is not surprised or giggly. It is absolutely terrified, and so is the way his entire body jerks back, falling out of his chair and rushing out of the room. 

Kageyama thinks he hears Koto-san shout after him, but he can’t tell if it’s her or his mother, and he can’t risk slowing down to find out. So he runs even faster. 

It’s raining outside, and each drop on his skin feels like a bullet through his head. Water seeps into his sneakers when he sprints through a puddle, and soaks into his socks. It weighs down his feet and makes him nauseous as he runs. 

His body can’t keep up with him, and eventually he finds himself crashing into the wet sopping ground. He chokes, mouth full of spit and salty tears and he furiously starts wiping away at his face with his dirty hands. His eyes sting, and he can’t tell if it’s the tears or the mud he might be getting in them and can’t bring himself to care when all he can focus on is the fact his heart wants to escape his body through his throat. 

He’s going to die. 

His feet throb.

He’s going to die. 

He can’t breathe.

He’s going to die. 

His arms are numb. 

He’s going to die. 

He sucks in a noisy wet breath, fingers squeezing at the mud beneath him and tries to focus. He tries to count to ten but it’s not working. It’s not working at all. 

Someone touches his shoulder, and he flinches away so harshly he falls over onto his back. He looks up into the eyes of a stranger, and she is saying something. But Kageyama can’t hear her. Won’t hear her. There’s just rushing water in his ears.

He stumbles back onto his feet and runs off again, getting back onto a sidewalk and turning when he finds an empty alleyway, like the ones he used to hide in before he moved out of the orphanage. 

  
He slams himself into one of the side walls of the alley, letting out a pained cry when it hurts more than he expects. He squeezes his shoulder tightly with one hand, sinking down onto the dirty pavement. 

The water collected in the uneven cracks beneath him and seep into his shorts. He shudders, letting out another wretched sob as he pulls his knees up to shield him from the world around him. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

And all he wants in the world is oranges. But he’s alone, and it reminds him that that’s how it always is. He’s alone and the world is not kind to him. He’s alone and it’s his fault. 

He doesn’t deserve oranges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see huh
> 
> i struggled writing this chapter, and i'm still not happy with how short it is, but I was done playing with it.. I hope it's alright. 
> 
> thanks so much for all the kind words, it really keeps me going. 
> 
> until next time


	15. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima Wakatoshi enjoys routine, enjoys practice and precision, enjoys forcing his way through problems through sheer force and perseverance.
> 
> So when the world turns upside down he is upended with it.

Iwaizumi is very good in a crisis. He has to be. He spent most of his childhood putting out fires for Oikawa, and stepped into a profession that demanded the skill. He’s good at talking to people, thinking on his feet and making decisions. He has a good gut for things. 

Oikawa is  _ incredibly _ good in a crisis. Despite his well known dramatics and flair for hyperbole, Oikawa grows serious when necessary. He becomes icy calm, calculating. He takes in everything in his surroundings, he delegates, he comes up with plans, he solves problems. 

Ushijima is...Ushijima is a mess. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi enjoys routine, enjoys practice and precision, enjoys forcing his way through problems through sheer force and perseverance. 

So when the world turns upside down he is upended with it.

And when the crisis is so personal, it comes out all the worse. 

“Toshi, are you listening?” Oikawa asks, and it’s not angry or upset, just a simple question devoid of much emotion. 

“No,” Ushijima answers honestly, “I am not.”

Oikawa takes his hand, which forces Ushijima to unclench it from his leg. He didn’t even know he was doing that, but now that he looks down he can see both his hands were clamped on his knees, his knuckles white and straining. 

“Can you listen to me?” Oikawa asks. Again, Ushijima doesn’t know how to describe the tone other than it being a simple question. If he were to say no, Oikawa would accept it. He knows, for once, Oikawa would not push.  

“Yes,” Ushijima decides after a moment. 

“When we get to the gym, I’m going to talk to his coach. Iwa-chan’s going to drive around. I need you to look around on foot. You know the places he’s likely to hide in. Can you do that?”

“I can,” Ushijima nods, “I will.”

Oikawa squeezes his palm again, “Good,” he turns to Iwaizumi, perching himself forward, “Iwa-chan, is Daichi coming?”

Iwaizumi nods, not tearing his gaze from the slick wet road, trying to keep his heartbeat to the same rhythmic tempo as the windshield wipers, “He should be. I confirmed the coach filed a report so the local squad should be mobilizing too.”

“I’m going to call Nee-chan and see if she can help,” Oikawa says, pulling out his phone. For all his bravado, Ushijima can see his fingers shaking. It takes him seconds longer than normal to find his sister’s name. While it rings by his ear he continues, “Iwa-chan when we get there, call Matsun and Makki. They live near here don’t they?”

Iwaizumi grunts, and Oikawa leans back, letting go of Ushijima’s hand to start talking rapidly into his phone, voice uncharacteristically low to keep it from breaking. 

When they get there, they don’t waste time talking to each other. Ushijima and Oikawa jump out of the car, and Iwaizumi drives away, turning on his brights. Oikawa pushes past Ushijima to walk into the gym and find the coach and maybe question some of Kageyama’s teammates. 

Ushijima starts walking. 

It has stopped raining, luckily, but he still carries his umbrella just in case. He has a flashlight Iwaizumi had brandished to him before he left the car. There is mist in the air, and it hangs heavy around him, suffocating.  

His hand is clenched around the umbrella, to the point his fingers begin to hurt after only a few minutes. He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. He can’t relax. 

He can’t relax. 

Ushijima is not an emotional person. Has never been. Has always run on a delay when it comes to reactions. He feels things just like any other person, he just prefers to keep it to himself. He doesn’t let it affect his work, his day, or anything really. He doesn’t let it weigh him down, he just wades through until he succeeds in whatever he is attempting. 

Ushijima remembers crying twice in his entire life. 

The first, when his father left him when he was very young and never came back. The second, when he broke his wrist in middle school. 

Ushijima doesn’t remember ever seeing his mother cry, not even at his grandmother’s funeral when he was little. Not even when his father left. Crying wasn’t a thing that happened in the Ushijima household. 

In fact, Ushijima lived a life completely separated from the entire action until coming into range of the hurricane duo he fell in love with. 

Oikawa loves crying, actively seeks it out in the entertainment he consumes, manipulates the world around him with a good staged crocodile tear. 

Iwaizumi feels with his whole body, and Ushijima had not expected to see him cry so openly so often, whether it be from a sad film or an especially heart wrenching case at work

Even little Kageyama cries, tears bursting out of him whenever his emotions get too fierce, too complicated, too much. And it takes time and soothing to calm him down and bring him back, and right now, there is no one with him, and he is alone and he is crying, and he is scared, and he is alone--

Ushijima’s breath hitches, and it makes him stop walking, feet turning into stone. They’re too heavy to lift anymore, and all he can do is let his shoulders quake as he sucks in quick breath after quick breath. 

This is not helping. He needs to focus. He needs to look for Kageyama. He needs to move. He needs to push through and keep going. 

“Toshi?” 

He turns his head, seeing Oikawa coming down the sidewalk with his own flashlight, “Are you alright?”

Ushijima can’t speak. 

Oikawa brings his hand up to cup his jaw, and it’s only then, with the swipe of his thumb over his cheek that he realizes he’s crying. Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just lets the skin between his eyebrows crease, “It’s alright, baby,” Oikawa whispers, in the softest voice Ushijima’s ever heard him use. It’s uttered in the silence of the misty night around him and almost seems ethereal, “We’ll find him.”

“How can you be so certain?” Ushijima can’t help but hiss back.

“He’s a thorn in my side, he can’t slip away that easy,” Oikawa smiles, but it looks so sad in the graying light. 

“Oikawa, he must be terrified--”

“Don’t,” Oikawa interrupts, voice hitching a bit higher than the calm veneer he is working so hard to keep in place, “Don’t think about it.”

“I am sorry,” Ushijima murmurs, pulling his face away from Oikawa’s hand in order to wipe it himself, “I am wasting precious time.”

“Go sit down, Toshi. You’re trembling.” 

Ushijima grits his teeth, forcing his legs to move, “That is unnecessary. I am helping look for him. Do not suggest otherwise.”

Oikawa doesn’t press for once, oddly subdued. Ushijima knows it must be his own way to cope with it. Oikawa has a tendency to cut himself off from anxiety entirely in a crisis, but Ushijima knows this can only be temporary. That at some point he will crumble from the weight he is trying to hold up.

Iwaizumi drives up to them then, headlights blaring in the dead of night, making the two men on the sidewalk squint. 

“Are you guys looking?” Iwaizumi shouts from his open window, and it might be the tiredness in his voice that makes the question sound so accusing, but it makes the pair on their feet bristle. 

“Of course we’re looking,” Oikawa snaps, tongue faster than his mind, “What are  _ you _ doing?”

Iwaizumi winces, gritting his teeth, “I don’t want to get into another fight with you, right now. You guys haven’t moved much at all.”

Oikawa shoots him a glare, “It’s four am, Hajime, forgive us for not working as fast as you want. You’re the one wasting time stopping us.”

“Oikawa--” Iwaizumi starts.

“Yes, Hajime? What? What do you want to say?” Oikawa interrupts, leaning over to sneer at him, “Here to question if I even  _ want _ to find your brat?”

Iwaizumi’s face reddens, hand fisting where it rests against his open window and he looks ready to blow a gasket. They both do, so swept up in each other’s storm. 

But Ushijima is the one that explodes. 

“Quiet!” he shouts, voice loud and booming, making the other two men’s jaws clap shut in shock, “I am sick of your fighting. I am sick of  _ both _ of you deliberating picking at your scabs like weak, squabbling children! I am sick of it! I have had enough! I am tired!”

“Ushi--”

“Do not! Speak to me! I do not want to listen! I do not want to be in the middle! I am tired! How dare you call Kageyama a brat? Tonight of all nights? I don’t care that you do not mean it you do not say it! And how dare you question our own persistence in finding him? As if we have not sacrificed so much for him, for  _ you _ already. How dare you, Iwaizume Hajime, take everything we do for granted!”

“Tosh-”

“I am  _ tired _ ,” Ushijima repeats, voice louder than ever before and it cracks at the ends, but he keeps pushing through because that’s all he’s ever been able to do. “I am  _ done _ . I have had enough!” He lets out an angry breath, whirling around and stomping down the sidewalk, brisk and furious and upset. 

“Ushiwaka!” Iwaizumi calls after him, leaning out of the window. 

“Just let him go, Hajime,” Oikawa sighs, shoulders slumping, “He wants to be alone.”

Iwaizumi swivels his head to look at him, sharply and with a sneer, “You think you’re above everything. You think you know everything.” He sucks in a breath, noisy like a snarl, “You don’t know shit, Oikawa. You’re just a fucking actor living for drama, trying to paint himself as the tragic hero in every damn scene. Get over yourself.”

He slams his gas pedal and Oikawa finds himself alone. 

“Fucking asshole,” Oikawa mutters under his breath, pressing his fists into his eyes to keep the tears from slipping out. He takes in a shuddering breath, blinking away the pain and focusing back up. This isn’t productive. 

They need to find Kageyama. 

That’s what matters right now. 

Nothing else. 

* * *

Kageyama doesn’t know how long he sits in the dark alleyway, but he knows it must be a long time. His legs are numb. He’s dug little crescent indents into his knees and chewed his bottom lip raw and bloodied.

He has his eyes open but they’re too watery to see clearly. So when someone touches his shoulder it shocks his whole body. He flinches away, curling up tighter in on himself and hoping the stranger just leaves him alone. 

“Hey buddy,” the stranger says, voice soft and melodic and not of a stranger at all. It makes Kageyama look up, blinking his wide eyes and taking in the smiling man’s face. 

“Hey, Kageyama,” he murmurs, bringing his hand back, “Bad day, huh?”

Kageyama opens his mouth to respond, but his mouth is too dry to speak. A pathetic sound comes out instead, and he shuts his lips tightly. His mouth wobbles and he blinks rapidly, and when Matsukawa-san holds out his arms again Kageyama falls into them. 

Matsukawa picks him up, letting his hand smooth down the hairs at the nape of Kageyama’s sweaty neck. He turns his head to look over at Hanamaki, and the other man nods, pulling out his phone to dial up their friends. 

“Are you tired, Kageyama?” Matsukawa asks, voice quiet and close to the boy’s ear. 

Kageyama nods, burying his face in the crook of Matsukawa’s neck. 

“Hiro and I are going to take you to our place, ok? It’s not far, and Iwaizumi, Oikawa and Ushijima can meet us there. Is that ok?”

Kageyama nods again, not bothering to lift his head, keeping his grip around Matsukawa’s neck tight and desperate. His eyes are squeezed shut, and it’s almost as if he wants to disappear in him completely. 

“Yeah,” Hanamaki says into the phone, “Yeah, he’s ok. Tired out. We’re taking him back to our place, do you need the address again? No, yeah, it’s fine. We have room.”

“Can you bring the car over?” Matsukawa asks, leaning against the alley wall and readjusting his grip. 

“You want me to shine your shoes next?” Hanamaki responds, but there’s no bite to the comment as he puts his phone away. He lifts a hand to brush away some of Kageyama’s wet bangs, and the boy doesn’t stir. 

“I think he’s passed out,” Matsukawa murmurs. 

“He’s such a cute kid,” Hanamaki sighs, “He’s a good egg, deep down, you can tell.”

“Not even deep down,” Matsukawa comments, “He just has a hard time expressing it is all.”

Hanamaki smiles, soft and sad, letting his hand glide through Kageyama’s hair, down his back to squeeze Matsukawa’s hand there. Then he let’s go, “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, before stepping out of the alleyway entirely. 

* * *

The car ride to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s shared townhome is objectively awful.

Ushijima sits in the back, silent as stone. Oikawa sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed and gazed locked on the horizon, as the sun slowly rises.

Iwaizumi is driving. 

It is silent. 

It is awful.

It has never been like this before. 

The thought plagues Iwaizumi’s mind as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, biting the inside of his cheek to stay awake. He knows they’re all tired and exhausted. But that doesn’t explain away the tension in the air. The anger. The resentment. 

It has never been this bad before. 

Iwaizumi can’t help but think it’s his fault. He ruminates on the words Ushijima has said, and continues to say. He thinks of the stress and agony of Oikawa’s recent months, and the words he so careless shouted at him earlier. The stress and agony he’s still in, that Iwaizumi has not helped alleviate. Has only made worse. 

He’s been so selfish. 

This has been a terrible idea from the very beginning. 

If he knew it could have the potential to ruin his relationship, he never would have done this. 

Never. 

But he’s at a loss for what to do. 

So he drives, silent and miserable like his partners, all the way until they reach the small little townhouse that Matsukawa and Hanamaki call home. 

The three of them exit their vehicle, knock on the door and let themselves in without any help or words between them. Hanamaki greets them in the living room, and in a whispered tone says, “He passed out immediately. Do you want us to wake him?”

Oikawa shakes his head, “Let him sleep. We all need sleep.” 

Ushijima squeezes his hands into fists. 

Hanamaki yawns, “Amen to that, he’s on a futon in the guest room. Y’all can have the bed.”

“I will sleep on the couch,” Ushijima decides. 

“We’ve all fit on that bed before,” Iwaizumi says, quietly, his voice weighed down by the oppressive air surrounding them. 

“I will sleep on the couch,” Ushijima repeats, and the force of it makes Hanamaki glance over at his boyfriend and bid a hasty retreat. 

Oikawa says nothing, pushing past his two partners to head into the guest room. Iwaizumi hesitates before following and leaving Ushijima alone.

Ushijima sucks in a breath. 

He closes the shade. 

He lies down on the couch.

And he sleeps. 

But it does not seems he sleeps for very long. Because it feels as though no time has passed when there’s a prod at his shoulder, forcing his bleary eyes open. 

It is silent in the home. His neck aches from the angle he is resting on the arm of the couch. It is dark thanks to the thick blinds covering the main window, but he can see the sun’s bright rays trying to peek through the edges of the drapes. 

Kageyama is standing in front of him, face nervous and hands fiddling with themselves. 

Ushijima sits up.

“Sorry I woke you, Ushijima-san but can yo--”

Ushijima hugs him, tight, practically bringing the boy into his lap in his sudden desperation. Kageyama is tense at first, words giving way to a startled noise. But he relaxes soon, when Ushijima’s hand comes to rest on the back of his head. He buries his face in the crook of the older man’s neck. 

He squirms his arms, letting them struggle their way out to wrap around Ushijima as well. 

“Kageyama,” Ushijima says, and his voice is unsteady. He squeezes the boy tighter, for support, “Do not run off like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama whispers. 

“If you must get away,” Ushijima continues, voice low and shaky, laced with aborted grief, “Please come to us.”

“Ok,” Kageyama says weakly. 

Ushijima doesn’t let go of him yet, because he can’t. His arms are trembling and there’s the odd stinging in his eyes again. Instead, he leans his own head down, letting it rest on Kageyama’s bony shoulder. 

“You scared us,” Ushijima whispers. 

Kageyama swallows, fingers digging into the loose shirt Ushijima is wearing, “I’m sorry.”

“ _ I _ am sorry,” Ushijima counters, pulling back to cup Kageyama’s face and look at him, really look at him. His bottom lip is bloodied and scabbed over, his eyes red rimmed and puffy, and the tear tracks still stain his face. Ushijima closes his eyes to breathe out a sigh through his nose. He opens them again, leveling hem into Kageyama’s wide blue gaze, “I am sorry I did not make it clear enough before, that you can always come to me, if you are scared.”

Kageyama swallows wetly, unsure how to respond. But Ushijima doesn’t need one, has never been one to  _ need _ words and simply gives a half smile. He lets his fingers climb to stroke Kageyama’s hair. 

“I interrupted you,” Ushijima continues, bringing his hands back to squeeze his knees, “What was it you needed of me?”

Kageyama blinks, like he too had forgotten his initial mission. “Can you get me water? I don’t know where the cups are.”

Ushijima smiles, standing up and heading for the kitchen. Kageyama follows obediently behind him, keeping close to his legs and watching as he grabs a plastic cup from a cupboard. He pours him a glass of water and hands it over. 

“Oikawa-san wants you to come over,” Kageyama says quietly, after taking a big sip. “I forgot to tell you that.”

“And Iwaizumi-san?”

Kageyama shakes his head, “Iwaizumi-san and Matsukawa-san left to go get stuff to make dinner.”

Ushijima nods. He waits patiently for Kageyama to finish his glass. They don’t talk, but the silence is comfortable, and exactly what Kageyama likes best about spending time with Ushijima-san. There’s no suffocating pressure to say the right thing or impress. He can just sit and be, and that’s perfectly fine. 

When Kageyama finishes, Ushijima places the cup in the sink. This time,  _ he _ follows obediently after Kageyama, as the boy leads them to the guest bedroom up the stairs. 

Kageyama opens it without knocking, but Oikawa is awake, sprawled out in the bed, sleepy eyes looking over at them. Kageyama doesn’t offer any kind of greeting, instead plopping down on the messy futon below. 

Ushijima closes the door behind him with a soft click.

“Toshi,” Oikawa says, and his voice is deeper than usual, remnants of sleep still clinging to his throat. He blinks slowly, a hand reaching out to him, “Come here, baby.”

Ushijima is still very upset. But seeing Kageyama alive and well soothes the hurt, and the softness in Oikawa’s voice is enough to erode even his thickest stone walls. 

Ushijima sinks into the bed, nestling into Oikawa’s arms and pressing his face into his slim chest. Oikawa doesn’t speak, just lets his hands run soothing lines through Ushijima’s hair. Ushijima closes his eyes, and let’s his face press close to Oikawa’s pulse and warmth, and relax, for the first time in hours. 

Ushijima almost falls asleep again, but he doesn’t, keeping his eyes half opened to stare blurrily at the skin of Oikawa’s collarbone. He licks his lips and nips at the skin there, earning him a startled gasp.

He presses his lips against the little mark, apologetically, but it’s a barely there touch that hardly counts for a kiss. Oikawa smooths back the hair on his neck, urging Ushijima to look up. 

“I am sorry,” Ushijima says. 

“You’re fine,” Oikawa says. 

“No, I am sorry about last night. For shouting.”

Oikawa shakes his head, taking Ushijima’s face and tugging him up to press a kiss to his forehead, “I know. You’re fine. We deserved it.”

Ushijima snorts, maneuvering further up to kiss Oikawa’s lips. His boyfriend lets his arms climb up to wrap around Ushijima’s neck, tugging him closer. “Did you and Iwaizumi talk?” Ushijma asks between kisses. 

Oikawa shakes his head, “He didn’t want to and then he left with Matsun,” he sighs, tilting his head to the side to crack his neck, “We’ll all talk when we get home. Together.”

“Alright,” Ushijima agrees. 

“Until then,” Oikawa muses, and the playful lilt returns to his voice, as he nudges forward to take Ushijima’s bottom lip between his own, teeth lightly tugging at him. It elicits a noise from Ushijima he’s embarrassed to hear, one that Oikawa greedily swallows up, hands fisting the back of his shirt tightly. 

“That’s gross.”

Ushijima and Oikawa pull away, looking over to see Kageyama staring at them from the foot of the bed. Ushijima rolls away completely. Oikawa pouts, sitting up and letting the covers slip off his chest, “Kissing isn’t gross, Tobio-chan.”

“Yeah, it is,” Kageyama counters, frowning more severely. 

“What about kisses on the cheek, then?” 

“Gross,” Kageyama repeats.

Oikawa giggles into his hand, slinking forward on the bed to get closer to the boy, “You’re so cute, Tobio-chan,” he laughs, pinching his cheek. 

Kageyama reddens, slapping the hand away quickly, “Stop it.”

“Does someone want a kiss from their Uncle?” Oikawa coos, smile sickeningly sweet. 

Kageyama looks disgusted, but before he can pull back Oikawa claps his hands around Kageyama’s face, lurching him forward to place a big, noisy kiss to his cheek. 

Kageyama shrieks, flailing to get back as Oikawa laughs. He lets him go, though and Kageyama almost falls back but catches himself. He’s bright red, and panting, too worked up to communicate properly. 

“Don’t tease him,” Ushijima says. 

“Let me have my fun,” Oikawa insists. 

“Then let him have his fun,” Ushijima counters, crawling forward to be closer, “Kageyama, did you know that Oikawa-san is ticklish?”

Oikawa tenses, eyes darting to Ushijima and squinting. But before he can move, he too is captured, by Ushijima’s strong grip on his forearm, reeling him back onto the bed and into his chest. Oikawa lets out a squawk as he struggles, but Ushijima looks unaffected, adjusting his grip to hold onto both of Oikawa’s upper arms, and letting his legs wrap around Oikawa’s kicking thighs. 

“You’re a traitor, Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa shrieks.

“Kageyama,” Ushijima says, and Kageyama quickly hurries onto the bed, mouth wide as he brings his fingers up to dance along Oikawa’s sides. It earns him quivering of skin and a choked giggle. He grows bolder, digging his hands into the space between the man’s ribs until Oikawa is shouting, head slamming back against Ushijima’s shoulder. 

Kageyama is giggling too, emboldened by the treat, letting a grin take over his face. It’s the first time Oikawa has seen the boy smile openly, and it’s almost enough to let him suffer through the torture. 

Almost. 

Instead, he elbows Ushijima, escaping his prison to take in deep necessary breaths. He’s no match for Ushijima, so instead he pounces on Kageyama, enjoying the way the boy screams out in surprise. He puts him into a headlock, ruffling his black hair with his fist, “You little  _ gremlin _ .”

But Oikawa is laughing too, and he softens his grip so Kageyama can weasel his way out and huff out a few annoyed breaths. 

It’s a weird game then, with Kageyama suddenly riled up and full of energy, given a way to expend it without getting in trouble. He grabs a pillow, hitting against Oikawa’s chest, and sending him down on the bed. Oikawa lets out a dramatic noise that has Kageyama preening, but not for long when Ushijima pulls his ankles and unbalances him, sending the boy crashing onto their covers. 

Oikawa works quickly, folding the covers over to roll a tight To-burrito, as the boy struggles and shouts. And then he lays on top of him, using his weight to smother the boy. 

“No!” Kageyama shouts, when Oikawa places another noisy kiss to his cheek, “Let me go!”

“Who’s your favorite uncle?” Oikawa asks, instead. 

“What?”

He presses another wet kiss to his forehead, earning another giggling shriek, “I said who’s your favorite uncle?”

“Ushijima-san!”

Ushijima grins. 

Oikawa squeezes the boy, earning a squeal, “Wrong! Who’s your favorite uncle!”

Kageyama huffs, straining to get free of the other man’s hold, “Iw-Iwaizumi-san!”

Oikawa blows a raspberry at the only hint of skin he can find on Kageyama, the crook of his neck, earning the loudest scream of all , and an extra few flailing kicks, “Wrong again!”

“Help, Ushijima-san!” Kageyama pleads. 

Ushijima sighs, “I think you know what you have to do to be free Kageyama. I can not help you in all your battles.”

Oikawa laughs, delighted, squeezing the boy even tighter, “Who’s your favorite uncle?”

Kageyama growls, red faced, “Fine! Oikawa-san!”

“Good boy,” Oikawa praises, squeezing him and planting one last kiss to his cheek before letting go completely.

Kageyama unravels in a heap, scrambling away and standing up on the bed, back against the headboard. 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa tisks, “No standing on the bed.”

Kageyama throws another pillow at him in retaliation, but also sits down, crossing his arms severely. 

Oikawa falls back dramatically, as if shot, laying down and sprawling out his limbs. Ushijima shakes his head fondly, but ignores him, moving to sit by Kageyama, “Are you alright?”

Kagyama blinks at the question, wiping some sweat from his brow, “Yeah.”

Ushijima nods. 

“OIkawa-san is weird.”

Ushijima nods.

“I’m  _ right _ here,” Oikawa reminds, not bothering to sit up but raising a hand to grab their attention.

Ushijima nods. 

Kageyama laughs, loud and happy, squeezing his eyes shut. Ushijima bites his lip, bringing his hand up to thread through Kageyama’s hair, and the boy lets his head fall onto Ushijima’s shoulder as he laughs. 

Oikawa wishes he had his camera with him, but he also doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Instead, he lays back down to stare up at the ceiling, letting out a soft sigh. He closes his eyes to better enjoy the sound of the child’s sweet laughter, and whispers, more to himself than anyone, “I’m sure Iwa-chan’s going to be ecstatic.”

* * *

Iwaizumi is miserable.

Absolutely miserable. 

He doesn’t sleep at all while in bed beside Oikawa. How can he? With the weight of the guilt pressing down on his chest. With the reminder at the feet of his bed in the form of a small boy, still stained in tears, tossing and turning in the night. With the empty space on his other side, a partner who refuses to be near him. 

He turns his gaze to Oikawa’s sleeping form. He pushed this on him. He’s pushed everything on him, and still Oikawa chooses to sleep beside him. He feels stupid for never appreciating that fact. Oblivious. Dumb. Just assuming that's what he should do, what everyone should do. 

Oikawa was, no  _ is _ , going through a lot, and in that turmoil Iwaizumi brought in another messy player. Oikawa had been honest and explicit and Iwaizumi had walked right past it. Ushijima, even, had been hesitant, cognizant of Oikawa’s feelings, which burns the edges of Iwaizumi’s heart, that he had been so blinded by all that. For what? A savior’s complex?

Kageyama deserves better than to be shackled to a household on the edge. He needs attention and love and patience and, and  _ professionals _ . He needs stability. He needs normality. He does not need them. 

But Iwaizumi can’t bear the thought of losing him now, but he also can’t keep torturing his partners for his own personal happiness. It’s wrong. It’s wrong and will lead to more disasters like tonight. 

The solution seems obvious. 

And the few hours he spends with Matsukawa food shopping and talking make it all the more so. It’s still not an easy decision to make, but most necessary ones aren’t. And he would do anything for Oikawa, for Ushijima, and for Kageyama as well. 

It’s for all their own goods. 

Dinner is a quiet affair. All parties starving from the lack of food and intense stress of the past day or so. Once their stomachs are filled, Oikawa calls for their departure, and all of them agree. There is nothing nicer than returning home after such an ordeal. They all long for their respective beds. 

Iwaizumi drives home to keep his mind focused on other things, fingers tight against the wheel. Oikawa watches the window, as the greenery shifts to the grays of the city scape. Ushijima leans back in his seat, eyes closed but very much awake. Kageyama sits beside him, leaning against his door, headphones in and lost to the world around him. 

When they get home, Kageyama hurries into his bedroom, closing the door with an accidental slam. Oikawa doesn’t have the energy to comment, instead collapsing onto the couch facedown with a groan. Ushijima sinks into the armchair beside him, hand coming up to rub his forehead. 

Iwaizumi stands in front of them, tense and arms crossed. 

Oikawa sighs, turning so he can face Iwaizumi. He’s on his side on the couch, head tilted up with the help of the arm rest, his wrist resting on his forehead, “You’re finally going to speak to us, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi frowns. 

Ushijima nods to him encouragingly. Oikawa looks bored, already knowing the apology about to come out of his boyfriend’s mouth. He wants to get it over with so they can all move on and close the book on this horrific experience. 

“Matsukawa and Hanamaki are taking Kageyama.”

The reaction is more subdued than Iwaizumi expects, though his partners do look a bit puzzled by the statement. Oikawa raises a brow, “Are we going somewhere?”

Iwaizumi takes a breath, “No. They’re adopting him.” The eyes before him widen. “It’s not right for us to have him. He needs, he needs stability. And we need to figure ourselves out to. I’m going with them to the adoption center to help them get approved. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. It’s my fault this all happened anyway.”

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh when he finishes, unfolding his arms to have them dangle at his sides. He looks up to find Oikawa and Ushijima frozen in their spots, mouths agape, eyes searching. 

And then Oikawa stands up, sudden and loud, and it feels like he  _ towers _ over Iwaizumi, “ _ What?” _

Iwaizumi is taken aback, stepping backwards. 

“You, you, you--” Oikawa face screws up, mouth puckering as he tries to suck in a breath, “You  _ fucking idiot _ !”

Iwaizumi blinks. 

“How, how, how!” Oikawa shouts, hands flailing in his inability to articulate, words unable to come to him like they normally do. He flounders, face reddening as he struggles to breath. “You’re, you’re giving him away!?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head quickly, but he can’t speak, as Oikawa keeps trying to force words out through his heavy tongue. His eyes are bulging, hands opening and closing and breaths coming in ragged as he keeps forgetting to breathe. But he can’t get anything out as if he’s drowning. 

“I don’t get it,” Iwaizumi cuts in quickly, eyebrows furrowing, “ _ You’re _ the one who was against all this! I’m  _ agreeing _ with you! You were right all along!”

“You, you absolute fucking moron!” Oikawa screams, stomping his foot as if that we’ll help untie his vocal chords. He sucks in another wet breath, trembling and desperate. Throat choked up and inadequate, and it feels like the world is tightening around him because how could  _ Iwa-chan, be so stupid? _

_ How could Hajime not understand him at all, anymore? _

“Oikawa-san?” 

Kageyama’s voice has all three adults whirling to look at him, standing in the living room, fingers holding tightly to his blanket. Oikawa lets out a strangled noise at the sight of him. 

“Go back to your room, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi says quickly, voice harsher than he means it to be. 

Kageyama ignores him, walking over to Oikawa to tug at his sleeve, “I need oranges.”

“Not now, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa stares at the boy with wide unseeing eyes. In that moment of weakness, the tears slip from him and sprinkle on his shirt sleeve. Kageyama’s hand fists the fabric there tighter.

Oikawa nods, slowly, as if in a trance, slipping his hand down to take Kageyama’s in his own, “Okay,” he whispers, likes it’s the only thing he can say. He starts leading him away from everyone.

“Oikawa, what? Oikawa, we need to finish talking about this!”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, putting on his shoes and nudging Kageyama out the door. Iwaizumi moves to follow after them, but Ushijima darts out to grab his arm.    
  
Hard. 

Fingers straining, digging into the nook of Iwaizumi’s elbow, making him wince. 

“Ushi--”

“How  _ dare _ you!?” Ushijima roars. 

If Iwaizumi felt small when Oikawa rose up, he is dwarfed by the presence of the massive structure that is Ushijima Wakatoshi standing in front of him. He stares up at him, at a complete loss. 

Ushijima is not, “How dare you make decisions behind our back!? Decisions that affect all of us! How  _ dare _ you!”

“I,” Iwaizumi starts, swallowing, the lack of sleep making everything so much harder, more complicated. His mind buzzes around him but nothing seems to be clicking, “That’s not, that wasn’t! I, you and Oikawa were, were miserable and I was trying to fix it because, because it was, it was  _ my fault-- _ ”

Ushijima shakes his head, disgust etched in his face like deeply carved lines on granite, “You don’t  _ know _ that,” he snaps, “You run on assumptions! Both of you do! You think you know each other, know me, know Kageyama, but you never bother to ask, and to see! You just act! And regardless of good intentions, Hajime, it does not forgive the wounds you cut knowingly with your blade.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, throat dry. He licks his lips, squaring up his shoulders, raising his defenses, “Look, I’ve know Oikawa for forever an--”

“I am afraid to inform you, Iwaizumi,” Ushijima interrupts, tone scathing, “But people change over time, and it is impossible to know what anyone is ever truly thinking unless you ask. You and Oikawa are very good at guessing. In fact I admire your abilities to read people.

“I can’t! I can not read between the lines on people’s faces, nor summon up the exact words a person needs to hear in a given moment. But at least I can accept my own inability to parse others thoughts, and  _ ask. _ ”

Iwaizumi tries to speak but Ushijima does not let him, sucking in all the air from the room for himself, “If we do not start talking to each other honestly and completely we will keep making these same mistakes! Hurting each other. Hurting Kageyama!”

“I,” Iwaizumi’s voice cracks through, broken and shaky, “I, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cover his face, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to  _ do _ . I don’t know what you want from me!”

Ushijima deflates, shoulders sinking down. He lets his hand raise to settle on Iwaizumi’s shaking shoulder, “You do not have to know,” he reminds, voice much softer than it has been, but frustration still gripping to every word’s edge, “You just have to tell us. There are three of us. There is nothing we can not figure out, but if we do not know what game we’re each playing it is impossible to win.”

Iwaizumi wipes his face, “I fucked up. I just, I was so scared, Toshi, that you and Tooru, would, would…”

Ushijima squeezes his shoulders, “Then you must tell us.”

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath, “ _ I’m _ supposed to take care of  _ you _ . Of Tooru. Of Kageyama.”

“We all take care of each other. Is that not what family is for? Shouldn’t you know that better than any of us?”

Iwaizumi swallows thickly, leaning forward to rest his head on Ushijima’s broad chest. 

“I’m trying,” Iwaizumi whispers, begs him to understand that he is, he really is. 

“We all are.”

“I thought, this was, too much for you. And Tooru. And Tooru doesn’t need more stress, with Kageyama being here and--”

“Oikawa loves that boy, Hajime,” Ushijima says sternly, “Loves him as much as I do, as much as you do. Just ask him.”

Iwaizumi takes in another breath before sinking into Ushijima’s embrace, letting his wet face rub into his shirt, “I was so scared.” Ushijima wraps his arms around him. “I love you. I love all of you so much. I just want to do what’s best. I just want us to stop fighting. I just,  _ please _ .”

“When Oikawa comes back,” Ushijima murmurs, “We will all sit down. And we will all talk. And we will figure it out. Alright?”

Iwaizumi nods, unable to respond, exhaustion and misery bringing everything in his mind to a stop. And all he can do is sink into Ushijima’s hold. Into his warmth. But he knows he’s right, and that all they can do is wait for Oikawa to come back soon. 

But Oikawa doesn’t come back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has part i love and parts im still not super happy with so overall im not sure what to think of it. its hard to keep everyone in character.
> 
> hopefully you guys enjoy. sorry about the late update, im doing nanowrimo this year so that's taking priority. (im actually writing original fiction GASP) (if you want to know more about it talk to me on my tumblr: findingschmomo.tumblr.com)
> 
> anyways, let me know what you think. your reviews keep me going. I had a really hard month and not gonna lie, going back and reading through all the comments really helped me feel loved and cared for when I was at my lowest<3
> 
> until next time


	16. Lacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima, keeps his focus on stirring the mug, but Oikawa can see his golden eyes flicking to look over at him. He purses his lips, lifting his head slightly so the light from the window catches on the collar bone revealed by the wide neck sweater he’s wearing. Ushijima’s stirring pauses momentarily. Caught.
> 
> Oikawa frowns, “Do you still have a crush on me?”

Oikawa looks up from the psychology textbook he is pretending to read when he hears the door open. He’s laying on his stomach on the bed, legs kicked up and crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing one of Iwaizumi’s shorts, and one of his loose tank tops, the kind where the sleeve hole is as wide as the shirt, leaving his sides exposed. 

It looks effortless and lazy, but Oikawa had spent about an hour agonizing over an outfit for Iwaizumi to find him in when he returned from his date. 

Oikawa looks up at him now, schooling his expression to be bored. Iwaizumi closes the door behind him and kicks off his shoes without saying much. 

“Well?” Oikawa probes, closing his textbook and sitting up. He makes sure to lean forward so the loose tank dips low, “How was it?”

“Weird,” Iwaizumi mutters, bringing his hand back to scratch the back of his neck. He looks uncomfortable, unsure of himself in his own room. Oikawa hates it. Iwaizumi is his rock, the most dependable man on earth. He shouldn’t look so lost. Oikawa won’t have it. 

“Well, you tried,” Oikawa assures. 

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “No, I mean, the date was good. Ushiwaka’s great.” Oikawa bites his lip, keeping his hands clenched on the sheets and hoping Iwaizumi doesn’t notice, “But it was, it was weird.”

“Okay,” Oikawa says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Iwaizumi sits down on the bed, looking over at Oikawa closely. He lifts his hand, letting it run along Oikawa’s cheek, thumb brushing against his lips so he stops biting at them. Oikawa leans into the touch despite it all, slumping his shoulders, and closing his eyes. 

“You’re upset,” Iwaizumi points out, “If you don’t want to go through with this, tell me. It’s ok.”

“I’m fine,” Oikawa says quickly, because giving up has never sat right with him, no matter the circumstances. 

Iwaizumi purses his lips, taking his hand back. Oikawa feels cold without it. Iwaizumi has always been warm, a personal heater of his all throughout life. 

Iwaizumi brings his legs up onto the bed, sitting cross legged in front of Oikawa, “Come with us next time.”

“What?”

“Ushi and I are hanging out again next week, come with us.”

“I’m not third wheeling your date,” Oikawa snaps, pulling back.

Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s hand, squeezing it, “You wouldn’t be third wheeling. You’re my boyfriend.”

Oikawa looks down at their clasped hands, bringing his other hand to run along Iwaizumi’s knuckles, “Say that again.”

“You’re my boyfriend, Tooru.”

Oikawa hums, feeling his lips quirk up. He dips his head down resting his forehead on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, “Again.”

“You’re insufferable,” Iwaizumi sighs, hand coming up to card through Oikawa’s hair, earning a pleased hum, “You’re my insufferable boyfriend, Tooru.”

Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi’s neck, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and tugging him close. As close as he can. His fingers dig in, face smooshing deep into Iwaizumi’s neck, until spots dance against his closed eyelids. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Oikawa replies, voice muffled but still heard. 

Iwaizumi moves, pushing Oikawa away so they can look at each other, “I want you to come with me. And if you hate it, then I’m ending it.”

Oikawa squints, “Why?” He shrugs off his boyfriend’s hands from his shoulder, “Why do you want me there so badly? I don’t want to, to see you hanging off of him. In front of me.”

Iwaizumi frowns, “I want you there because you’re important. You’re part of my life, and if you’re not there then something major about me is missing. And if you  _ can’t _ be around, then this isn’t going to work. And it’s not fair to Ushijima to string him along like that.”

Oikawa crosses his arms, letting out a huff, “Where are you even going?”

“I think we’re getting dinner somewhere.”

Oikawa falls back, laying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, his arms are still crossed atop his chest, “I call sitting next to you.”

“Fine.”

“And I don’t have to be nice.”

“Oikawa.”

“Those are my conditions.”

Iwaizumi snorts, laying down next to him on his side, hand lifting to comb through Oikawa’s bangs, tugging at the faded ends. The blond is almost completely gone now, replaced by the thick natural brown roots, “Alright,” he says, “I accept.”

Oikawa smiles, because he can’t help it, turning onto his own side to face the other. Iwaizumi leans up to give him a kiss, and Oikawa kisses back, and they stay like that for a long, long time. 

Oikawa wishes it could be forever. 

* * *

Oikawa drums his fingers on the wooden table top, fingers pursed and shoulders slumped. Across from him sits Ushijima, back ramrod straight and hands in his lap. It’s silent between them, the kind of a silence that a fly wouldn’t even dare disturb.

Oikawa doesn’t want to be here. 

Iwaizumi comes over, placing their drinks down carefully before slipping into the booth beside Oikawa. It’s a victory in Oikawa’s mind, and he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He spreads his legs a bit, so his thigh can press up against Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t move away, and it’s another point in Oikawa’s imaginary tally against Ushijima. 

But then Iwaizumi starts talking to Ushijima, and the timber of the other man’s tone is soft and deep. Oikawa isn’t listening, not really, just begrudgingly realizing how well Iwaizumi’s and Ushijima’s voices seem to intertwine. They’re both deep, Iwaizumi slightly more nasal. Oikawa’s on a higher register all together. 

He bites his lip.

“What do you think, Oikawa?”   
  
Oikawa looks over at Ushijima, “What do I think?” he repeats, pretending he’s been following the conversation.

Iwaizumi isn’t fooled, giving a snort as he sucks up his drink through his straw, but Ushijima is patient, face open and waiting. Oikawa wants to punch it, but he also can’t bring himself to, because there’s sincerity in his eyes. 

“What are your thoughts on Little Shop of Horrors?” Ushijima repeats.

Oikawa blinks, “The movie musical?”

Ushijima nods, expectantly. 

“It’s a movie  _ musical _ , it’s dumb, and boring,” Oikawa shrugs, leaning down to take a sip of his own soda. .

“And the biology is completely wrong,” Ushijima agrees, nodding emphatically, “Venus fly traps do not consume humans.”

“It’s an alien plant, though, it can consume what it wants,” Iwaizumi points out, “And the music is fun.”

“What a terrible alien,” Oikawa bemoans, playing with his straw, enjoying the crunch it makes against the cheap plastic lid, “None of it is unique. It’s just a plant, that gets big and talks for whatever reason. Where’s the distinct alien characteristics, morphology or behavior?”

“Also, the running of the floral shop is abysmal,” Ushijima concurs, “The business model does not make sense.” 

Oikawa rolls his eyes, giving a snort as he takes another swallow. Iwaizumi huffs, “It’s a silly B-Movie, you guys are judging it too hard. The dentist song is funny. It’s a silly monster movie.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t look at it critically,” Oikawa reminds. 

Ushijima nods, and Oikawa realizes, as he grips his cup tighter, that they are, in fact,  _ agreeing _ . He bites his lip and changes the subject, “Iwa-chan, have you done our poli sci assignment yet?”

“Uh,” Iwaizumi responds, pausing to sit back and let the waitress set their plates down, “I started the reading, but haven’t written anything yet. Why?”

Oikawa hums, stealing a fry from Iwaizumi’s plate, “Had a question about the directions.”

“ _ You _ had a question?”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, I’m flattered you think me so smart!” he coos, pinching Iwaizumi’s cheek. Iwaizumi scowls, swatting him away. 

“What did you not get?”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa sighs loudly, “Maybe we can go over it after this, in our room, together.” He looks over at Ushijima pointedly. Iwaizumi shrugs, focusing more on the burger he ordered now that it’s in front of him. He takes a messy bite. 

Ushijima looks down at his own plate, and for whatever reason, Oikawa doesn’t feel as smug as he should with this new victory under his arsenal. He feels...bad. But he swallows it down and shoves more food in his face instead. 

Ushijima changes the subject once more and the conversation is light, but Oikawa finds himself getting quieter and quieter. As the night progresses, and Iwaizumi and Ushijima’s conversations continue to be amicable and sweet, the bitterness grows in Oikawa’s stomach. He ends up stabbing his food more than eating any of it.

Finally, they finish dinner, and luckily, Iwaizumi doesn’t invite Ushijima over. Instead they nod to each other. Ushijima even gives Oikawa a wave, that he recipocrates after getting jabbed in the side with an elbow. 

Iwaizumi is quiet the whole way home, other than the occasional sneeze from the cold wind, and Oikawa can tell he’s upset. It makes his skin prickle because it’s his fault, and he knows he’s in the wrong, but he’s upset too and is in no mood to apologize, especially about  _ Ushijima  _ of all people, and so he walks slowly, deiberately, extending the silent trek as much as possible. 

But they do reach their room eventually. All things come to an end, eventually.

When Iwaizumi closes the door behind him, he looks at his boyfriend with stern green eyes, “Oikawa, look, I--”

Oikawa doesn’t want to listen to him, the bitterness engulfing him in stomach acid, rising like bile through his veins. His arms shake with a tremor, and he grabs at Iwaizumi, pressing their lips together instead. Because then Iwaizumi can’t break up with him, or tell him how much nicer Ushijima is, how much more handsome he is, taller, stronger, etc.

Iwaizumi is taken by surprise, pulling away to breathe, “Oikawa--”

Oikawa bends down instead, kissing at Iwaizumi’s neck and biting at his pulse, hands digging into Iwaizumi’s hips. All the weak spots he can reach, because he knows Iwaizumi, more than anyone, and that has to count for something. He purrs at the groan he elicits from his boyfriend, sucking at the spot just below his jawline, hungrily. 

_ Mine _ . 

Iwaizumi shoves him away, and Oikawa wilts, letting himself slump onto their bed when his knees hit the edge of it. Iwaizumi rubs his neck, frowning at him, “Oikawa.”

Oikawa tightens his hands into fists in his lap, and waits for it. For what he deserves. For Iwaizumi to be done with him, now that he’s realized how much nicer, more genuine other people are. Why stick with petty, jealous, hateful Oikawa?

“I’m breaking up with Ushijima.”

Oikawa blinks, head shooting up, “Wait, what? Why?”

Iwaizumi swallows, “Look, you hate it. It wasn’t fair of me to force you to do this. You, you humored me and for that I’m grateful. But I don’t want you to suffer like this just for my benefit. It’s not fair to you. And it’s not fair of me to lead Ushiwaka on, when I know this is never going to work. So, don’t worry. I’m ending it.”

Oikawa stares at him, mouth opening and closing, “You don’t...You don’t have to do that. It’s fine.”

“It’s  _ not _ fine,” Iwaizumi, “Stop lying! You have to be  _ honest _ with me! Always. That's how relationship work, idiot.”

Oikawa presses his lips together, rolling onto his side on the bed. He hears Iwaizumi sigh, and open the door, leaving him alone. Maybe to call Ushijima. Or find him in person. Oikawa doesn’t know. The only thing he knows is that he’s alone.

This should be another victory, but it feels like Oikawa is the biggest loser here.

And he can’t understand why. 

* * *

Iwaizumi falls ill shortly after. It’s obviously something minor and simple but when Iwaizumi is sick, he gets sick hard, unused to his body not obeying him. He remains bedridden and whiney, desperate for care and attention no matter how much he denies it once his fever runs down.

Oikawa usually loves this, because taking care of Iwaizumi is a rare treat he loves to indulge in. But this time it falls right in the middle of a nasty onslaught of midterms, and stress. Iwaizumi clinging to him is annoying, hot and sticky, body shaking every now and then to cough. Still, Oikawa stays with him, replacing cold towels on his forehead, and feeding him soup on command. 

Iwaizumi groans when there is a knock on the door, and Oikawa worries he’ll wake up after finally getting him to pass out. Iwaizumi doesn’t stir more than that, nuzzling his face into his pillow, so his reddened nose digs into Oikawa’s arm. Oikawa smiles, but carefully picks himself away so he can stand by the bed, covering Iwaizumi’s exposed side with the thick blanket to replace him. 

He pads to the door and opens it, and to his surprise, is met with Ushijima. 

He frowns, “What?”

“I heard Iwaizumi is ill,” Ushijima replies, tilting his head to see into the room. Oikawa instinctively mirrors the action, trying to block his view. Oikawa’s the only one who gets to see Iwaizumi like this. Other than the man’s own mother.

“He’s sleeping,” Oikawa says. 

Ushijima nods, then slips off his backpack, setting it down on the hallway to dig through it. He pulls out jars and jars of fresh tea leaves, all delicately labeled with worn fabric, tied around the lid in thick string. Oikawa wonders where he bought them; they looked straight out of his sister’s pinterest board. 

Ushijima gathers up the jars in his arms before straightening back up, “I was not sure what his ailments were so I brought an assortment of herbal teas. Do you have a notepad? I can explain what each one does so you can use the correct ones.”

Oikawa stares at him, “What? Where did you get all this?”   
  


Ushijima tilts his head, “I picked them from my garden this morning. I could not bring everything because I did not have enough jars, I apologize. Anyway, can you describe his symptoms to me?”

Oikawa continues to stare at him, hand gripping the door edge tighter and tighter, “Why are you doing this?”

Ushijima frowns, “Iwaizumi has always been very kind to me. I care about him and his well being. I understand I am not welcome here, but please accept these. I will not come inside.”

Oikawa bites his lip, hard, before looking down at the ground and opening up the door completely. He turns around, stepping back into his room and taking a seat at the foot of Iwaizumi’s bed. 

Ushijima watches from the threshold of the door, “May I come in?”   
  
“What, are you a vampire?” Oikawa snaps, letting his hand run along Iwaizumi’s blanketed leg, so it does something other than dig into his own skin. 

“I do not follow?”   
  
“Oh my God, just, just come in you big...big doofus,” Oikawa huffs. 

Ushijima obeys, stepping forward and quietly closing the door behind him. He doesn’t ask anything more, just slips away into their little kitchenette to grab their tea pot and start boiling water. 

Oikawa ignores him, swallowing down the fluttering feeling in his stomach by looking down at Iwaizumi’s sleeping face. His eyebrows are still furrowed in his stern expression, mouth slightly parted and a bit of drool beginning to seep into his pillow. Oikawa smooths the other man’s bangs out of the way, caressing the fiery hot skin. 

Ushijima comes back toward him, “Does he have a fever?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa whispers back, not letting his gaze leave his boyfriend, for his own sanity’s sake, “It’s just a cold. Iwaizumi’s just a big baby.”

“I thought he was 20.”

Oikawa brings his hand back to clasp around his mouth and muffle the sudden laugh trying to burst through his lips. His shoulders shake and he looks over at Ushijima’s blank stare, and, oh _ God that makes it even funnier _ .

Ushijima is bewildered by the reaction, but his features soften and, Oikawa wonders if he even sees a smile gracing his tan features. 

Oikawa swallows down the rest of his chuckles. He bites the inside of his cheek, mouth suddenly feeling too dry. His hand squeezes Iwaizumi’s calf over the blanket, and the man’s foot twitches a bit under his touch. 

Ushijima leaves him again when the kettle whistles. Oikawa sighs, patting Iwaizumi’s leg before carefully standing up to follow. He finds Ushijima steeping a mixture of leaves into a mug. He nods at him, and Oikawa leans against the counter to watch him. 

Ushijima, keeps his focus on stirring the mug, but Oikawa can see his golden eyes flicking to look over at him. He purses his lips, lifting his head slightly so the light from the window catches on the collar bone revealed by the wide neck sweater he’s wearing. Ushijima’s stirring pauses momentarily. Caught.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow, “Do you still have a crush on me?”

Ushijima stops, and Oikawa waits. To his surprise, he’s met only with slumping shoulders, “I do not know.”

Oikawa furrows his brows, leaning forward, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“This is all very new to me. I like you. I am glad we are friends. But I also enjoy Iwaizumi’s company. Although I know, I… I am fine being friends.”

Oikawa squints further, mouth curling up in disgust, “No, you’re not.”

Ushijima licks his lips, “Oikawa.”

Oikawa takes another step closer, effectively trapping the taller man against the counters edge and hot water filled mug, “What do you want, Ushijima?” he asks, keeping his brown gaze fierce, “Cut the nice guy crap. You came here because you can’t accept defeat. Because you’ve  _ lost _ and it’s eating you up inside, that for the first time ever, you didn’t get what you wanted?”

Ushijima stares at him, but the grip on the mug’s handle he clutches is unnecessarily tight. 

Oikawa smirks, pulling back a little, “You don’t wear defeat well on your shoulders.”

“It is an odd thing to be proud of,” Ushijima replies, “But I suppose, it’s easy for a man so full of meaningless pride he can sprinkle it everywhere.”

Oikawa grits his teeth, something scathing ready to leap off his lips, when Ushijima sighs instead, looking past him toward Iwaizumi’s dormant form in the other room, “You are no completely wrong, I will admit.”

“I knew it,” Oikawa hisses.

Ushijima frowns, bringing his piercing gaze back to him, and Oikawa suddenly feels reminded of his height advantage and all the space he takes up, “How can you possibly know? Without asking?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond.

Ushijima shakes his head, “You and Iwaizumi share that same habit. You rely on assumptions, fed by cues you interpret, and I suppose that works for the most part, but it does not always. There are much more straightforward ways to go about it.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Talking honestly to one another,” Ushijima insists, frowning deeper, “Without veiling emotions. Just words and patience.”

“Says the guy who barely talks. And when he does, does it condescendingly.” Oikawa licks his lips, and he feels a bit heated, like the air is too warm and suffocating around him. He can’t breathe properly, each puff of air feels shallower than the last. Maybe he  _ is _ catching Iwaizumi’s fever, “Honesty this, honesty that. Don’t put yourself on a pedestal when you’ve been lying too.”

Ushijima glares, and his eyes shine gold. His stare is deep and searching, making Oikawa’s skin absolutely crawl, like he’s been placed under one of Ushijima’s microscope. Like every flaw has been magnified under his scrutiny. “Fine, I will be honest,” Ushijima says, stepping away from the counter to crowd further into Oikawa’s space, “I came here because I missed you. Because I have missed both of you.”

Oikawa sucks in a breath, and finds himself at a loss for words, for once. He looks down, but only manages so far when his eyes catch on Ushijima’s lips, right  _ there _ , inches from his face. Oikawa feels flushed, and the strangest urge surges through his being like a pulsating need but he forces it down. He pushes past Ushijima to take hold of the mug instead, and trying his best to keep his voice from shaking says, “You should get going.”

Ushijima lets go of a breath, giving a stiff nod. He leaves a few jars, notes down directions in a meticulously neat handwriting despite Oikawa’s protests, and then leaves without another word. 

Oikawa nudges Iwaizumi awake, helping the bleary eyed man into a sitting position. He blows at the top of the mug before having Iwaizumi wrap his clammy hands around it. Iwaizumi moans when he takes a sip, head leaning back on the mountain of pillows Oikawa has assembled for him. 

“Did you, did you make this?” Iwaizumi asks, voice croaking and raw. He still looks half asleep, and his words slur lazily in his dry mouth. 

Oikawa debates lying, “No,” he decides, “Ushiwaka dropped it off.”

Iwaizumi smiles, teeth poking out from behind chapped lips, instinctively, and Oikawa feels his heart stutter. He’s so handsome, when he smiles so freely, and it’s so rare to see, that Oikawa can’t help but feel blessed. Thankful even, for Ushijima’s gift.

Oikawa licks his lips, looking away as Iwaizumi takes another sip of his tea, “Did you...Did you ever kiss him?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “Nah,” he leans back into his fluffy headrest, eyes half closed, “He’s too far.”

“What?” Oikawa says, blinking.

Iwaizumi turns his head to nuzzle into the pillow. Oikawa lurches to grab the half full mug before it spills. “Mm, he’s so tall. Can’t reach.”

Oikawa bites his lip to hide his giggle, “Yeah?”

Iwaizumi nods, kicking out a leg sleepily, “He’s really hot though. And sweet. Always, always asked about you.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa probes, bringing his hand up to caress Iwaizumi’ cheek, still too warm for his liking.

Iwaizumi nuzzles into his hand, “All we talk about, is...mm...is how dumb you are,” he laughs, hoarsely, coughing a bit by the end of it. Oikawa pouts, but Iwaizumi’s eyes are closed, unable to see it. Still, he must feel it, because he smiles, soft and true, “and how much we love you.”

Oikawa feels his heart stop yet again, and this can’t be good for his health, not at all. He leans a bit closer, trying to search Iwaizumi’s relaxed face for any kind of clues, “What do you mean?”

Iwaizumi groans, blinking one green eye open, “What?”

“You talk about...You both...love me?”

Iwaizumi blows air through his chapped lips, making them thrum into the fabric of the pillow, “Duh,” he says, closing his eyes again, “How could I love anyone who didn’t love you too.”

Oikawa spends the rest of the afternoon in the kitchenette, sipping at cold tea and thrumming at the table nervously. His feet fidget under the table, nails scratching at the varnish of the wood until it peels off in thin semi clear layers. He picks the gunk from underneath his nails, using his teeth to get the tricky pieces out. And then he’s biting his nails, despite his best efforts, and once he starts there’s no point in stopping. 

He rests his head against the table and tries not to think anymore. 

Of course, that’s always been impossible for him. 

So instead, in the silence, all he can do  _ is _ think. And think. And think. 

* * *

“Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa blinks out of his thoughts, unclenching his fists from the steering wheel. He lets out a breath he must have been holding. The windshield shows only empty road before him, darkness illuminated by his headlights to reveal the green foliage framing the pavement. He swallows. 

Right. 

He must have lost himself to his own thoughts. Back to the present. The darkening sky and the lonely road. 

“Oikawa-san?” 

He glances over, seeing Kageyama strapped in beside him, blue eyes curious, but otherwise relaxed in his seat. “What?”

Kageyama points and Oikawa glances down to the gas light, noticing the ‘E’ symbol has flashed on. He curses quietly to himself, straightening up his posture to pear out around him. The road stretches on and on, uneventful, but eventually as they drive, he can see the tell tale promise of a neon sign. 

He’s able to turn into the mostly deserted parking lot soon after, stopping his car right in front of a fuel dispenser. He switches his care off, the silence in it’s wake a bit shocking. He doesn’t get out of the car just yet, and Kageyama doesn’t say anything either. It lasts just a moment, but it makes the weight on Oikawa’s chest seem just the tiniest bit lighter. 

“Sorry,” he says first, turning his head to look at Kageyama properly for the first time since they’d left the apartment an hour or two ago, “Are you alright?”

Kageyama nods easily, “I’m fine.”

“You are?” Oikawa pauses, eyebrows lowering, “Why were you, why were you upset then? Because we were yelling?”

Kageyama shakes his head, “I’m used to yelling. It’s ok. But Oikawa-san was upset. I wanted to help.”

Oikawa opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. His throat feels tight and dry, his fingers squeezing into his palms. And he doesn’t know what to say. 

Kageyama’s blue eyes widen, leaning closer, “Oikawa-san? Are you crying?”

Oikawa snaps the seatbelt off of himself and opens the door with a kick of his foot, “No,” he says, pathetically, lying badly to a  _ child _ , “I need to fill the gas tank.”

“Ok,” Kageyama says, remaining seated. Because of course he doesn’t think twice of it. Oikawa-san’s words are law in his eyes. Oikawa snorts, trying to calm the tremors in his hands as punches in the information into the machine. It’s cold, and he didn’t bring any gloves, and he’d always had poor circulation. He shivers. 

“Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa sucks in a breath through his nose, “What?”

“Can I get some milk?” 

Oikawa sighs, looking around the empty parking lot toward the lit up convenience store. He shoves the nozzle into his gas tank with a click, and glances at the number slowly ticking up on the digital face of the dispenser. “Alright,” he replies. 

Kageyama jumps out of the car, slamming the door shut and walking over to the convenience store. Oikawa follows after him, locking the car with a press of a button as he holds the door open. It chimes, and Kageyama hurries to the back where the dairy products sit on their refrigerated shelves.

Oikawa takes his time weaving through the aisles of junk food and spare items, reading labels as he goes to keep from letting his mind wander to the issues festering in his mind. He ends up grabbing some sweets despite his better judgement and eventually reunites with the child.

Kageyama is looking critically at two different milk bottles, weighing them out in each hand.  Scratch that, he’s looking at the exact same brand of milk bottles, judging them for whatever reason. 

“Pick one,” Oikawa says, impatience bleeding into his voice, “They’re the same.”

Kageyama shakes his head, “This one is a dark blue wrapper though. And this one the cow is on the left instead of in the center.”

Oikawa is too tired to stop his eyes from rolling, “They redesigned the branding. They taste the same. Pick one.”

Kageyama purses his lips, but does pick one, favoring the darker colored wrapper. Oikawa takes the bottle from him to check the expiration date, “Do you want anything else?”

Kageyama shakes his head, content, but Oikawa watches him salivate over the meat buns near the counter as he pays, and ends up buying two of those as well. 

Kageyama devours his bun as they pull out of the station. Oikawa focuses more on getting onto the road. His muscles feel more relaxed, only one arm on the wheel, and the other resting on his window sill with a half unwrapped meat bun. He takes a chewy bite.

It’s disgusting. 

He eats the whole thing. 

“Oikawa-san?” 

“What  _ now _ ?” Oikawa groans, glancing over briefly. Kageyama’s face is dirty, meat sauce staining the corners of his mouth, so he digs a hand into the bag to shove a napkin at him. Kageyama huffs, but obediently wipes all over his face. “Well?” Oikawa probes.

“Where are we going?” 

Oikawa pauses. His eyes widen, and he unconsciously slows down. A car behind him honks and he quickly accelerates back to the speed limit, straightening his shoulders. He doesn’t answer Kageyama, mostly because he doesn’t  _ know _ where he’s going. He’s just driving. Driving away. Where can he even go?

He can’t go to his mom’s house, because it’s not even theirs anymore. 

He can’t go to his sister’s house, because she’ll question him, and his mom will be there too, and he doesn’t want to be tagged team right now. 

He can’t go to his dad’s apartment, because he’s never been one to comfort, and maybe Sakura’s there, and Oikawa can’t handle seeing that right now. 

He can’t go to Auntie and Uncle’s house, because they’ll tell Iwaizumi immediately, and then what’s the point?   
  
He can’t go home, not now, not yet. He can’t. 

He swallows thickly. There is one place he could go. Where Iwaizumi wouldn’t think to look for him. 

“You’ll see,” he says, lifting his butt from his seat to fish out his cellphone. He opens up his map app and hands it over to Kageyama, “Tap in this address.”

He dictates carefully, trying not to get annoyed when Kageyama misspells the street name twice. Finally, they get the right map up and Oikawa instructs him to put it in the phone holder on the dashboard. 

Kageyama ends up having the whole thing drop, the sound of the clatter almost making Oikawa steer into the side of the road in his surprise. But he’s a good driver and doesn’t, biting his tongue from yelling as Kageyama scrambles to grab the pieces. He fixes it somehow, hastily, shoving it back in it’s spot on the dashboard. Oikawa unlocks his phone with his thumb print, and it’s fine. He sighs. 

Kageyama sits back in his seat to stare out the window, watching the darkness calmly. He closes his eyes and Oikawa hopes he’s falling asleep. He turns on the radio and lowers the volume to a soothing murmur. He taps around his phone until he can get his spotify playing through the car speakers. He lets the soft vocals of Seventeen’s  _ Come to Me _ envelope him, free of his boyfriend’s usual judgement. 

And he just, drives. 

Kageyama does fall asleep, head lolling heavily to the side, face adorable in its serenity. Oikawa doesn’t hide the smile it brings to his face. He’s the only one there to see it so there isn’t much point. In fact, he relaxes completely, letting his body sink into the leather of his seat and just be. The drive takes another two hours, but there’s no traffic, the streets clear and breezy. His mind can’t wander completely because the route isn’t familiar. It’s a good thing to focus on. It’s nice, even.

As they near their destination the nerves flutter back into Oikawa’s stomach, making his grip on the steering wheel fidgety. He presses on, biting his lip as the large house and sprawling landscape comes into view. Kageyama stirs awake when the car stops, blinking sleepily as he swings his legs around to step out of the vehicle. It’s too dark for him to see where exactly they are. 

Oikawa takes his hand, mostly to keep him from tripping in the darkness and the pair walk up the stone pathway to the front door. There Oikawa hesitates, but feeling Kageyama shiver beside him makes the twisting settle in his guts. He knocks loud and insistent. 

It takes a few minutes, but eventually, the old woman pries her door open to glare at them, the light of the hallway illuminating her stern face. She’s wearing a thick nightgown, the trails behind her, her black hair swept up into a tight bun, intermingled with gray streaks. Her gold eyes pierce through them. “What are you doing here?”

“Oba-cha,” Oikawa replies, voice rawer than he expects it to be, “Can we come in?”

She squints, but her gaze shifts down to Kageyama, huddled close to Oikawa’s leg. She waits another moment before opening the door complete. She doesn’t say anything, just turns and walks away, back inside. 

Oikawa nudges Kageyama over the threshold. He hesitates himself, looking back out at the car parked in the driveway before following after him. 

He closes the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! thanks for your patience! we're basically in the home stretch of this story!!!
> 
> this chapter is shorter than I would want but ah well. I hope it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> I got a twitter last week plz [follow me](https://twitter.com/findingschmomo/status/1075579504138039296)
> 
> other than that, i'll see ya next time
> 
> comments keep me goin'


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